Fluttering Chaos
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *Austria/N.Italy* Austria finds himself developing a crush on Italy that he's not entirely sure he approves. Love has strange, fluffy ways to ignore denial, though.
1. Chapter 01

**SOY:** hello there! I wasn't properly planning to write this, but things got the best of me, so you get a small fanfic regarding Austria and Italy. Please enjoy the first chapter, and do not forget to drop by a review to tell me if you liked!

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

**Chapter 01**

With a soft sigh, Austria walked through the corridor leading to the meeting hall, checking the documents he was holding in his arms for the tenth time, as if to make sure that they hadn't changed disposition in the last three minutes.

The meeting he was going to was only the first in his list of bothersome things he had to do for the day, and he wanted nothing more than get out of it as soon as possible.

As he got closer and closer to the door of the room, he could distinctly hear some of the European Nations present there bitching at each other; Czech and Slovakia were yelling loudly, and he almost turned around to leave, only to stop himself at the last second.

He couldn't just leave like that, mainly because one of the planned subjects regarded him, but Austria had never had enough patience to deal with the two rebellious Nations, especially this early in the morning.

Yet, this was a meeting, and he had to participate. Doing the opposite would only create problems for him.

With a sigh, he straightened his back, wondering if it was better to first get a coffee. He might need it, but…

"Ve~ Roderich? _Buongiorno_!"

He halted his movements and turned around, nodding at the two Italian brothers moving closer.

Italy waved happily at him whilst his older brother simply grunted, not even bothering with verbal greetings.

Austria inwardly frowned at the uncouth lack of appropriate manners, but had given up on Romano acting like a proper gentleman with males centuries before.

"_Guten morgen_, Feliciano, Lovino," he nodded at them, face carefully blank.

Italy beamed at him, opening his mouth to talk, but Romano was already bored, and bumping against his brother's arm, stomped towards the door, only hesitating when he heard a particularly loud curse coming from the other side.

Austria shook his head, about to follow the two Italians, then he noticed something that made him stop.

"Wait a moment, Feliciano!"

Italy tilted his head to the side and turned around, eyes opening wide as he stared at Austria stomping closer, eyes set on him, expression serious. "V–ve? Is there something wrong with me?"

"You really are hopeless, Feliciano," Austria muttered under his breath, sighing as he reached forwards for Italy's chest. "Your tie is crooked… here, let me–"

Italy's shoulders dropped a bit in relief as he allowed Austria to fix it for him, a faint flush on his cheeks.

Mentally shaking his head, Austria wondered if Italy would ever hold himself properly to his status; when he'd been living at his house, despite the problems they had gone through for the first few decades (Austria still didn't like to remember how he had been under the impression that Italy was a girl), at least the little Italian teen had been properly dressed and well–behaving.

Nowadays, all he did was run around mostly naked, unless he had official meetings.

Still, remembering the little Italy of back then, Austria had to admit that now things were so very different; Italy was almost as tall as he was, he'd truly grown up…

"Here, all done," he stated, pulling away. "You should try to…" he trailed off as he stared at Italy, who was smiling warmly up at him.

Something shifted inside him –the picture of little Italy crumbled into small shards, and was replaced with older Italy, the one standing in front of him. his heart skipped a beat without reason.

"Do I look good now, Roderich?" with a small tilt of his head, Italy pointed to his now fixed tie, cheeks still flushed.

Austria didn't know what to say.

Part of him wanted to answer that yes, of course Italy looked proper –it was just a stupid crooked tie, the rest of his suit was impeccable– but the main part of him took in the sight in front of him, and didn't really know what to say.

Italy looked good in that dark suit (probably one of his branded ones), it made his eyes stand out more; and then there was his built –no more that of a child, he looked fit, yet still lithe enough to not fall in the 'manly' category.

Young Italy had twirled for decades in female clothes, fitting into them perfectly, moving through Austria's house with his vacant, bright smile yet shy and attentive, and for a moment, as the Austrian aristocrat had looked up from the fixed tie, he had expected Italy to still look like that –small, innocent and cute.

Somehow, the sight of a grown–up, matured Italy didn't fit his mental image at all, no matter if under the slightly more attentive expression he was wearing, there was the same bright, innocent smile.

Italy was an adult now, and even Austria had to admit that he looked good.

When had he changed so much? He couldn't remember.

Feeling embarrassed for his own thoughts, Austria pressed his lips together in a thin line, and made a motion towards the door, where Romano was standing, looking uninterestedly at them.

"Uh… yes, of course. Stop asking such stupid questions already and get in the room, the meeting is about to start!"

"Ve~ thank you! Roderich is always nice with me~"

Italy grabbed his brother's arm and pushed the door open, stepping into the meeting room with a happy laugh.

Austria was left alone in the corridor, completely still and flustered at Italy's nice words, unable to move and feeling unexpectedly rattled.

…–…–…–…

With a soft sigh, Austria shut the door behind his back and neatly placed his jacket on the rack next to the entrance.

With methodical, familiar motions, he walked through the main corridor and dropped the package of documents on the small table in the corner, then removed his shoes and placed them on the shoe–cupboard, taking out his slippers and putting those on.

Then, eyes still vacant, he walked to the kitchen and served himself a glass of wine.

He sipped the cool red liquid slowly, letting it rest in his mouth for a little longer, swallowing it in small gulps, refreshed by its tangy taste, before washing the glass in the sink, drying it up and placing it back where it belonged.

All of that was done in complete silence, the usual routine for when he came back home from a meeting.

After that, he moved to his bedroom.

There were a lot of clothes that Austria used when going out, most of them looking just as uncomfortable as those he used when he remained home, but there was difference for him anyway, and he pulled one of his house–attires out from the armoire.

Mind carefully blank, Austria placed his used clothes back into the drawer and walked to the final destination, the music room.

There was no one else in the house –at this time of the day, his maids were left free of work and Hungary would only come to visit him later in the afternoon– and the feeling allowed him to relax as he sat down to the piano, cracking his knuckles and lifting the lid of the keyboard up.

Another second of silence, in which all the thoughts he'd tried to keep at bay cluttered together to the front of his mind, pushing at each other, demanding to be addressed…

Then his fingers fell on the keys, and music filled up the nothingness.

For the entire duration of the meeting, Austria's eyes had returned to Italy over and over.

Unable to let his mind wander elsewhere, the Austrian Nation had tried hard to concentrate on business matters, but not even the problems of his own boss had been enough to absorb his attention.

Sitting there for over two hours, Austria had enough time to think.

And most of all, he had enough time to cringe away from his thoughts, from the fact that like a moth to a flame, his eyes were continuously returning to Italy, much to his shame.

To the way his curl bounced up and down as he nodded and waved his arms around.

To the way his eyes crinkled with amusement when his brother spitted nonsense curses towards nearby nations.

The silly smile that he reserved to people around him, yet the way his face turned serious when his turn to talk arrived.

It was stupid –he couldn't be paying attention to Italy, at least not like that; he'd known him for centuries. He'd been the one to raise the little colony up, it was preposterous. It was embarrassing.

Austria's fingers danced on the piano, the familiar tunes of Chopin curling around him, enveloping his mind, helping him calm down.

This was nothing.

He was just thinking far too much. That feeling would surely abate.

As he played, he tried to concentrate on Italy's face back then, and sighed.

When Hungary arrived, coming in with her own key, he was still in the music room, playing endless Chopin melodies.

…–…–…–…

Austria checked the list he'd compiled, wondering once again when he'd run out of sugar and milk, and then looked up.

He was standing into a newly opened supermarket at a mall not far from his house, and it was really huge; the fact that he was there had nothing to do with the grand opening or the fact that it was closer… simply, on his way to the usual shop, he'd somehow gotten lost, and ended up there.

There were so many brands of products… he'd never even heard of some of them.

How was he supposed to know which ones were good, and which ones were not?

With a sigh, he walked down the first aisle, eyeing the many products with a grating look; he wasn't in the right mood to spend too much time like this. He had enough things in his mind already, and many of them were not exactly something he wanted to think about.

Like the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about Italy.

Nothing embarrassing, thankfully –he simply could not move his attention to something else without it reminding him of Italy, one way or the other.

Walking through the halls of his own house, he remembered a younger, adorable Italy skipping down the corridors, holding his brush in his little, chubby hands, and drawing all over his walls.

Even that thought wasn't enough to make Austria angry anymore –far from it, he'd started to consider it rather endearing. And it scared him.

Italy wasn't endearing. Nor cute. And definitely he wasn't someone Austria should think so much about.

He was clumsy, silly, and it infuriated him all the time. Even back then, when Italy had been naught but a colony, Austria had found him annoying.

Well, it wasn't entirely true. Little Italy had charmed many during his stay at Austria's mansion, and Austria himself hadn't been completely resistant to his cute face, yet had managed to hold his own rather well.

Still, it was wrong.

Thinking about Italy as anything more than someone he'd raised from a bean sprout to a full–fledged nation…

Austria didn't like this new 'sappiness', and it confused him.

What had changed?

Had he been so blind of Italy's changes that they had hit him all at once, causing such an uproar inside him?

Something inside him had shifted. His perspective of things. The way he looked at Italy had changed.

Such a stupid thing… yet, he couldn't stop his thoughts.

So, he'd been careful to ignore Italy –which wasn't really hard, considering they barely spent time together nowadays. Keeping away from him would allow his mind to sort through these new… thoughts of his, and everything would return to how it was before.

"Ve~ Roderich? You're here too?"

Austria fought the urge to look up, knowing he would be faced with cold ceilings and neon lamps and most definitely _not_ with whatever being hated him so much, and sighed.

Inwardly, he wondered why his resolve was being tested so early on.

"Feliciano…?"

Turning around, Austria tried to convince himself that facing Italy wouldn't be bad. Maybe that time at the meeting (two days prior) had been a one–time problem, and now he'd just realise how silly he'd been, thinking about things too much, but…

Italy smiled at him, holding a basket filled with food, his head tilted to the side, looking so bright and _nice_ and _cute_, and Austria's heart did a strange sort of complicated flip in his chest.

Blinking, the Austrian Nation tried to focus on Italy's words, but his eyes were attracted by the other man's lips, then by the bouncing curl, then tracing the contours of Italy's face, the way his hair looked, bright and vivid…

"–to come here," Italy blinked, coming to a halt. "Ah… Roderich? Are you ok? You look a bit red…"

Shaking himself out of his trance, Austria flushed in utter embarrassment as he realised he had spaced out, something unprecedented, and he'd done it to admire Italy's face, of all things?

Oh, God… he had it bad.

"Ah, uh, I'm sorry, Feliciano, I didn't quite catch what you said," he admitted, looking down at his own shopping list with a frown.

He felt utterly at loss, and he didn't like it. He hadn't allowed anyone to make him feel like this, confused and unable to concentrate, and now, because of Italy, of all people…

Nonsense. He was so stupid…

"Ve~ Roderich must not be feeling well…" much to Austria's shock, Italy moved forwards, breaking through his personal space to press a hand on his forehead.

The hand was cool and smooth, and Austria's brain registered the feeling, connecting the sensation as belonging to Italy.

Realising this, his cheeks burned crimson without his consent, and Italy's eyes turned even more concerned, though he moved away quickly so not to be scolded about his bold action.

He was still aware that Austria didn't like him to get too close, but he had not been able to stop himself, this time.

"Ah! You're all red! A–are you coming down with a fever? Can I do something?"

Clearing his throat, Austria pushed the other's hand away, face returning to a steely expression. "Calm down Feliciano!" he ordered in a strict tone.

Immediately, Italy shut down and stared up at him meekly, a reminder of how he used to act back then. Austria shook his head.

"I'm feeling fine, you stupid boy. I just have more pressing things to think about than you. Now, what did you say?"

With a small pout that managed to strike guilt into Austria's heart, Italy looked down at the floor. "I've seen the ads on Ludwig's TV, and it looked like a convenient place where to buy groceries… ve~"

"I see," with a soft sigh, Austria waved at the aisles. "It is definitely too big for me. I am having a hard time finding where things are".

"Ah! Let me see~" coming far too close once again, invading Austria's personal space for the second time in two minutes, Italy peered at the shopping list and brightened up. "I've been there already, let me show you!"

"Feliciano, I don't think it is a–"

Then he registered Italy's hand tugging at his sleeve, those hopeful brown eyes looking up at him, and he felt his resolve crumble and disappear.

With his heart having its own private party, Austria allowed Italy to conduce him around the aisles, never ever taking his eyes away from him.

…–…–…–…

"Roderich? Is there something wrong?"

Shifting his attention away from his piano, Austria glanced up at the woman who was leaning towards him, eyes betraying her concern, and let out a soft sigh.

"No, Elizaveta, I'm fine," allowing his lips to twitch upwards, Austria nodded at her to sit down.

Hungary nodded and sat on a nearby chair, hands neatly folded on her lap.

Holding her stare for a moment more, Austria forced himself to look back at his piano. This wouldn't do –he knew Hungary longer than he'd known Italy, and she was one that could read him like he did with his music sheets.

If there was someone who could know instantly that Austria was having problems, that was Hungary.

And the Austrian Nation did not intend to allow that to happen.

His fingers moved on the piano keys, drawing out another Chopin melody –it felt far too familiar, he had been playing Chopin for weeks now, but he couldn't stop. His music was soothing, helping him calm down.

He couldn't change it just because Hungary was there to listen.

"You've been playing Chopin a lot, lately".

He knew she would not let the subject drop, but he was equally stubborn. "Is that so?"

Hungary let out a soft hum and nodded, even though the other didn't turn around to look at her. She could feel something was wrong, but she didn't know the reason, and it bugged her. She cared for Austria, after all, and seeing him upset made her anxious.

"What is it troubling you?"

"Nothing is".

"You play Chopin when you are upset".

He didn't reply, but the melody turned into a different song once again.

"_Roderich_…"

"… it is nothing," he murmured. _'Nothing you could be able to help me with, at least'_.

"But it is making you this upset, I am sure there is something wrong, and I only want to help!" shifting forwards a bit, Hungary placed her hand on Austria's shoulder, as an attempt to be reassuring; knowing she was only trying to show her support, he didn't shake the hand away, yet did not answer, either.

The notes continued floating around them, holding his emotions at bay.

"Is it about Gilbert again?" the way Hungary said his name, Austria had the distinct feeing that Prussia would soon be on the receiving end of a frying pan.

Although he didn't quite care for the idiotic albino's health, allowing him to get maimed by Hungary for something that had nothing to do with him sounded uncouth on his part.

He shook his head.

"No, that idiot has nothing to do with this" he replied.

He could feel her hold on his shoulder relax visibly, then move away. He sighed again.

"Did Ludwig's dogs get into your house again?" this time, her tone was almost amused.

With a frown, Austria performed a complex round of notes before turning to look at her. Noticing his frown, Hungary hid her smile behind one hand.

"Then, was it Vash? I spoke with Lili earlier today, and–"

"_No_," he put enough stress on the world to make sure she would stop. "It is not Vash either… and before you ask, it has nothing to do with Francis or Antonio, either".

"So it is not them, yet it is something bad enough to make you this stiff?" Hungary's tone switched back to worry and she tapped her foot on the floor, almost impatiently. "I don't understand".

"Could you please drop the subject? I am not comfortable in speaking about that…"

Hungary fell silent for a moment, then let out a defeated sigh. She knew that something was wrong with Austria, but if he refused to talk with her about it, there was nothing she could do.

"I went with Feliks at the new supermarket open nearby," she stated instead, noticing with a small pout how Austria's shoulders relaxed instantly. "There is a bookstore there, and it has a delicious pastry shop! Though nothing like the kind of desserts you can make, Roderich".

Austria let out a soft hum and changed song.

He didn't mind Hungary's chatting, he'd grown accustomed to it, and he quite liked her voice anyway. It complemented his music well.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder how would Italy's singing voice sound, then hastily pushed the thought away. He was trying to _ignore_ Italy, not think about him.

"I went to the mall myself, a few days ago," he admitted, fingers stopping their course for a moment, almost waiting for something. "I hadn't planned to, but…" he hesitated, letting Hungary know that getting there had been just a chance.

"Ah, so that is where you bought all those new brands of food? I was wondering about that," Hungary chuckled. "But I do have to admit that your latest Sacher was excellent".

Austria nodded in thanks and opened his lips to say such. "I met Feliciano there".

As soon as he stated his name loudly, he stiffened. He hadn't meant to mention him, and definitely, there had been no reason to do so. They were talking about food.

All of sudden, he felt terribly awkward and exposed.

Hungary looked at him in confusion, but smiled anyway. "How is he?"

"… fine," he replied, refusing to give in to his need to fidget. "Normal. Like usual".

"It has been a while since I've last seen him! Feliks sees him more than I do!" with a pout, Hungary took out her phone. "I'm definitely going to call him!"

"Wait, now?" Austria swore he risked a whiplash with how fast he turned to look at her, still feigning calm. "Elizaveta, it's almost supper time…"

"Yes, and we had plans to dine together, right? Then it won't be a problem if I invite Feli over!" she was already smiling, dialling Italy's phone number with something akin to glee. "I'll prepare some _somloi galuska_ for dessert!"

Austria swallowed and looked back at the piano, knowing he had no way to go against Hungary's determination –once that woman was set on something, there was nothing that could stop her.

"Ah, Feli!" the Hungarian woman chirped, waving happily at the Austrian Nation. "I'm calling from Roderich's house, and we were wondering if–"

Austria brushed his fingers on the white keys and tried to strengthen his resolve. Having Italy over would be ok. He just had to ignore the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about the other, and it would be fine.

Yes, nothing to worry about.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **so, that was it for the first chapter ^^

_Buongiorno (Italian)_ – Good morning

_Guten morgen (German/Austrian_) – Good morning.

_Somloi galuska_ – typical Hungarian dessert, translated roughly into "sponge cake", with walnuts, raisins, cream and rum.


	2. Chapter 02

**SOY:** second chapter! I hope you will receive this as well as you did with the first chapter. Please enjoy and don't forget to leave me a review if you liked! I'd appreciate it :D

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

**Chapter 02**

"Welcome Feli! It has been a while!"

Hungary opened her arms wide and Italy tackled her, rubbing his nose against the older woman's chin and smiling brightly at her.

"Ve~ big sister Elizaveta! I've missed you!"

Smiling even more as he received a kiss on each of his cheeks, Italy straightened his back and offered her a bottle of his wine. Humming in pleasure at his choice, Hungary pulled the Italian Nation into the house, closing the door at his back and motioning for him to leave his jacket on the entry rack.

Austria scratched his chin, unable to look away from Italy.

Although he'd seen the other Nation two days before, the moment his eyes fell on him Austria realised (much to his horror) that he had missed Italy as well. He couldn't explain otherwise the sudden longing he felt into his chest, or the fact that he wanted to move forwards and pat the Italian man's shoulder in welcome.

He managed to push that craving back, and when Italy noticed him, Austria feigned his usual disinterest.

"Feliciano, welcome," he stated.

"Good evening Roderich~" tilting his head to the side, Italy was about to say something else, but then his nose twitched, and his attention was attracted by the pleasing scents coming from the kitchen. "Ve~ Eli cooked _Pörkölt~_"

"Sure I did, it was your favourite back when you lived here!" Hungary cooed, feeling clearly satisfied with herself.

She'd always liked coddling Italy.

Feeling oddly disappointed, Austria followed the happy duo back to the dining room, absently moving Italy's chair so that he could sit at the table. Italy looked quizzically at him, but Austria was still lost in his thoughts, and did not notice.

Hungary resolutely ignored Italy and Austria's offers for help, so the house's owner also sat down, waiting for the cook to bring forth the food.

Silence fell on the two, and Austria felt a spike of worry reach into him. Did they ever have such unease, tense silences before? Was it just him being self–conscious? What did Italy think about that? Did he feel tense, too?

It was utterly stupid how much thought he put on every single thing now, but he couldn't stop it.

"Here, I'm sorry if I made you wait!" smiling and bringing to the table her spicy food, Hungary set the plates in front of her two male companions and returned to the kitchen to get her own portion, sitting down at the table and clapping her hands together. "Let's eat!"

Italy started digging into the food as soon as Hungary had finished speaking, and Austria found himself eating at a slow, sedated pace, ignoring the way his two friends chatted happily as they enjoyed the meal.

Usually he'd join them with a few comments, but something was holding him back.

Trying to put things into a rational perspective again, Austria allowed himself to look at Italy.

The other nation was indeed cute –he had some sort of appeal, of course, with his innocent, bright looks. But was that enough to explain Austria's sudden confusion?

Italy was a nice person. Austria had known him his whole life, and could tell without fear of being corrected that Italy hadn't a single ounce of wickedness into him…

But being nice, although a fine quality, wasn't enough either.

He was an artist at heart.

The thought made Austria relax slightly. Yes, this could be a good reason, after all. Italy painted, composed poems and scripts and music. That was something they had in common –a passion for arts and music.

If there was something Austria respected in Italy, that was it.

'_But shouldn't I find things to deny this… attraction instead?'_ freezing half–way through his thoughts, Austria quickly looked away from Italy and grabbed a slice of bread, ripping a small portion of it and bringing it to his lips.

Italy was silly. Always smiling, always bouncing around, making other nations grunt in annoyance, especially Germany.

He was clumsy, and more than once he'd risked breaking something expensive at his house. Not that he'd ever done so, of course, but…

He always had the bad habits of sleeping anywhere and slacking off.

And he was weak. Back during the war…

'_Oh, who am I kidding? We're not at war anymore, and I know exactly why he faired so badly during battles,'_ there was no denying that either.

It wasn't just Italy's aversion for war and his fear (which had more to do with the rough way he'd been treated into the past than anything else), but also the poor conditions of Italy after the declaration of the war, the lack of proper weapons and decent commanders…

Germany had done all that he could, but Italy had rejected the very idea of fighting, still.

Austria knew the reason why, and it was this thought that prevented him from adding Italy's weakness into the list of his flaws.

Austria had found Italy's faults to be unnerving before, right? Then why was he still straying to look at the Italian Nation sitting in front of him, smiling hesitantly as he fiddled with his fork?

"Ve, Roderich? Was my… presence unwanted here?"

Not for the first time, what Austria registered first was Italy's tone and choice of words –it was almost always different when Italy spoke with him, with attempts at being more polite and quiet. He didn't use such a tone when dealing with his brother, or Germany…

A part of Austria was pleased that Italy would know how to behave around him, that at least some of his teachings of back then had been fruitful, but right now, he felt guilty.

Austria longed for the same close relationship Italy shared with others, Hungary included.

'_Am I… envious? Or Jealous?'_ he couldn't believe that.

If there was another reason why he shouldn't develop 'feelings' for Italy, that would be it. Longing to be a greater part of Italy's life again?

After their past together?

He'd brought up the kid, for God's sake. He'd been the one to dress him as a girl for centuries without knowing. He'd been the one to explain him what… birds and bees were (although France had a much bigger influence on the second step of the explanation, not that Austria had liked that).

He'd scolded the kid for his clumsiness, praised him for his good work, hesitantly offered his help after the Holy Roman Empire had left for war…

He'd never seen Italy as anything else but… well, Italy.

What–

"Ve, Roderich?"

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Austria realised he'd been staring at Italy, not even replying to his question, for at least a full minute.

Flushing in embarrassment at his own lack of attention, his eyes darted to the side, but Hungary wasn't sitting with them anymore.

A quick glance down made him realise he'd finished eating the first dish without even having tasted it fully.

Hungary was probably gone to the kitchen to get the second course, and her absence had prompted Italy to…

"Why would you ask that, Feliciano?" he sniffed in reply.

"V–ve…" fidgeting again, Italy looked away. "You've been… stiff since I came… did Eli invite me without your approval?"

Blinking at his words, Austria stiffened and tried to calm down. It wouldn't do if even Italy noticed…

Well, but Italy was a good observer, after all, even if he didn't look like it.

"No, of course not," he replied smoothly, looking straight into the other Nation's eyes. "You are… uh, you are always welcome at my house, Feliciano. I mean it".

And he _did_ mean it, even as his cheeks turned slightly pink and his heart skipped half a beat.

Italy blinked, searching his face for something, and he must have found it because his hesitation quickly melted into happiness –that bright, open smile that made Austria feel like he'd swallowed something exceedingly sweet.

"Ah! I'm so happy! I love spending time with Roderich too~"

"W–when did I even say I liked spending time with–" spluttering, Austria flushed and attempted to look offended, but Italy's smile didn't waver, and the Austrian nation settled again, feeling utterly silly yet definitely more satisfied than before.

Moments later, Hungary returned with the second course.

This time, Austria did join the other two in their small talk.

…–…–…–…

"Ve~" Italy stepped out in the dark and looked up, feeling appeased and full, and giggled at the stars with a contented smile. "Thank you for the dinner and the company, ve~ it was nice!"

Austria nodded towards him, standing on the front door and watching the outlined figure of Italy in the dark.

Hungary stepped out from the porch and hugged him, then moved back to the door and poked Austria on the side. The intimate, familiar contact made him glare at her, but she didn't back down.

"You should see him back home, Roderich," she murmured softly, watching Italy walk away.

"Why?" he backed away from her, shaking his head.

"Because it is a proper thing to do! It's dark, and you wouldn't want to let him go back home on his own, right?"

Austria shook his head. "Shouldn't I see _you_ back home, then?"

"Oh, but I'm not going home yet. We have to talk, Roderich," there was a strange glint in her eyes as she said that, and Austria gulped down his uneasiness. "Feliciano! Wait up! Roderich will walk with you!"

"Ve~ but he doesn't have to! I'm a big boy!"

Glancing with a defeated look at the happy Hungarian woman, Austria sighed softly. "I know, Feliciano, believe me. I know".

As he walked the Italian nation back to his house, inwardly cursing at his own inability to say no to Hungary, Austria remained silent, and much to his surprise, Italy did the same.

It was cool, and the sky was partially covered with dark clouds, and the two walked slightly apart; Austria found himself peeking at the other nation every now and then, observing him at the streetlamps' lights.

Ridiculous. Even if he accepted that he was harbouring feelings for Italy, that didn't mean anything.

Venice was beautiful at night, and Austria felt his shoulders relax as he walked through the silent streets up to Italy's house, once again admiring the splendid view.

"Ve~ Elizaveta's dinner was very yummy, but next time I want to taste Roderich's sweets…" flushing a bit, Italy smiled at him and latched his fingers together behind his back. "After all, I helped you get the ingredients a few days ago~"

Taken aback by the sudden comment, Austria could only nod.

As he turned around to leave, he noticed a speckle of dirt on Italy's shoulder, and leaned forwards to brush it away; Italy was startled at the sudden contact, cheeks turning pink, but didn't move until Austria finally shifted away.

The closeness made the older nation feel almost lightheaded, but he stubbornly ignored the feeling.

"Ve~ thank you for walking me home~ see you soon then! _Buonanotte,_ Roderich!"

Without looking back, Italy bounced up the steps of his entrance and entered the house, closing the door behind his back.

Austria was left once again disappointed. He hadn't expected anything different from the Italian Nation, actually… but what annoyed him was exactly _that_.

Had it been France, Spain, Germany, or even Prussia, Italy would have hugged them without care, and probably even kissed them on the cheek as a thank you, flushing adorably and babbling about what they'd do next time.

He felt robbed of this opportunity, even though he'd never wanted anything different before.

'_I might not want my feelings to get any deeper than they already are, but…'_ shaking his head, Austria slowly made his way back home, knowing he'd have to confront Hungary now, and he wasn't quite looking forwards to that.

As he'd expected, Hungary was waiting for him in the kitchen, with two cups of hot tea in front of her.

Austria went directly in defensive mode. "I have no idea what you want to talk about," he started. "But it is getting late, and…"

"Oh, shut it, Roderich, you know very well I can take care of myself," she smirked, and the hard glint in her eyes made Austria remember of a time when Hungary had dressed as a knight, instead of a maiden.

That time wasn't as gone as it sometimes felt like.

"You like him".

Austria had predicted she would realise it, somehow –though the 'why' and the 'how' were still lost to him– and had braced himself for some sort of brutal confrontation, too, yet the words still shook him to the core.

He hadn't dared to admit that to himself, let alone say it out loud, and now…

"I do not".

He wasn't going to admit defeat like that, either. He had his pride.

"You do. I've seen the way you glance at him, and how stiff you were around Feli during dinner. I was there all the time, dear Roderich!" she giggled, her cheeks flushing slightly pink. "I think it's cute".

"Elizaveta…"

"Oh, Roderich, it was about time you got that stick out of–"

"Elizaveta!" scandalised by her choice of words, Austria deflated at the hard look he received, and slumped down on a chair, holding the cup of tea to his lips.

"When did it happen?" curious, she leaned forwards, eyes wide. "When are you planning on telling him?"

"I… I don't plan on tell him at… I mean, there is nothing to tell!" such a slip up… he sipped the tea, feeling ashamed of his own reactions. "Do not treat me like a fool".

"You _are_ a fool, and my eyes work just as well," she gloated, gently patting his shoulder from her side of the table. "How did it happen?"

With a long, deep sigh, Austria finally relented. Not that it had taken him much –Hungary was, by all means, his weak spot. The woman knew him far too well.

"I don't know how that happened… I just…" how could he explain that? It felt silly in his mind, it'd be even sillier stated out loud. "I always considered him the same little Feliciano I owned in my house, back then. And then, all of sudden… he wasn't that anymore. And I just can't stop thinking that…"

He fell into an uneasy silence.

"I think about him," he finally admitted. "It feels stupid, but I am reminded of him often, lately, and no matter how much I refuse to let my mind wander that way, he keeps popping up".

It felt ironic that the person he was confiding into was the one that had once been his wife, but maybe because of that, it wasn't as embarrassing and inappropriate as it should have. As it was, Hungary stood up, long skirt rustling as she moved behind him, hands gently resting on his shoulders for a massage.

"I do think it is very sweet, Roderich," she cooed. "But one way or the other, you should at least try to talk to him more… it is Feliciano, after all. He can notice things, but when it comes to him… he's just dense".

"I don't want to talk to him, Elizaveta!" shaking his head, he leaned forwards, pressing his lips on his intertwined hands. "I don't want these… feelings to get more out of control than they are already".

"You can't put a leash on your emotions!"

"But it is wrong to think of Feliciano like that! He was under my care when he was a baby!"

"So were Alfred and Lovino for Arthur and Antonio, but that does not stop them from engaging in… interesting… activities," she replied, cheeks turning crimson as she covered her face with her hands.

Austria refused to turn around and look at her, though he knew she was almost drooling.

Her words were true, of course, but it was different. Through the years, Spain and South Italy had maintained their relationship, and it had only deepened since then. They fought and Romano still denied it, but they had danced around each other for along, long time.

With America and England, too, things were complicated –they had, despite their fighting, or maybe because of that, a heartfelt relationship; they joked and played around with each other, but they were, indeed, close.

But with Italy, things were different. They were not open with each other, or as close as the other two couples were.

Italy had learned to tame his manners in Austria's company, and that had prevented anything to grow between them –be it friendship or…

"I do not wish to… with Feliciano!" he denied, suddenly realising the implications of Hungary's words as his cheeks coloured red.

Hungary chuckled –chuckled! How _dare_ she?– and her grip on his shoulders increased slightly. "You like him, right?"

"I–"

"If you wish to get closer to him, you could at least try that, first –though I do believe the best course would be for you to confess your feelings…"

"There is nothing to confess," he stated, voice raising in tone.

Hungary sighed and returned to her seat and her now rapidly cooling tea. "Why are you denying this, Roderich?"

Austria did not answer, and sipped his tea. He'd already exposed his stance on the situation, and he would not change it –not even if he did wish to somehow mend his relationship with Italy.

"Are you afraid he would reject you?"

Looking up sharply, Austria lowered the cup to the small plate, making the porcelain rattle. "Of course not," he replied stiffly. "But…" _'it wouldn't work, between us. We're too different' _he wanted to say, but stopped himself.

There was no 'us'.

Besides, he knew Italy enough to be aware that if he were to confess, the other Nation would not entirely believe it. How could he, after Austria had maintained such a cool, standoffish attitude with him for centuries?

Even if he changed it now, things wouldn't fit without work, and it simply wasn't worth it… was it?

"Oh, Roderich".

It was by her sad tone that Austria realised he'd spoken loudly, and covered his mouth with the cup, draining the last droplets of tea and placing it down again.

"Before you can dismiss something as 'not being worth it', you should at least try to spend some more time with Feliciano, and see if you can at least fix things a bit," she pouted, shaking her head.

Really, Austria sometimes was mostly infuriating.

"Just invite him over more, or talk with him, I'm sure you'll find something to do," she continued, growing more and more excited as she tried to think up situations in which Austria and Italy could meet up. "You both like a lot of things, like–"

Hungary's words didn't take a hold in Austria's mind, he didn't allow them to, but of course she wouldn't back down until he admitted defeat.

It was easier to follow his brain than his heart, but Hungary always provided a counterbalance to that, forcing him to admit of things he would have never even looked at on his own.

Still, Austria knew himself well. If on one side, he didn't want to explore these feelings he was harbouring for the younger Italian nation, on the other side he was acutely aware that he would not be appeased with keeping away from Italy.

Maybe he could use this opportunity to fix things with him…

Italy was a full grown nation now, and despite his strange quirks he was mature. They could, at least, let the past behind them. His 'infatuation' for Italy didn't have to mean anything, unless he let it grow, and he _wouldn't_ allow it to grow –he was actually quite sure it would fade away with time.

But if being around Italy made him happy, then so be it.

He was doing it for his own selfish reasons, but if no one knew, then it was still ok.

"I cannot promise you I will do all of that," he stated quietly, "but I wouldn't mind… I wouldn't mind fixing things with him".

Hungary looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded. She didn't seem quite satisfied, but at least she was backing down, and she was smiling. "Now, Roderich, be a proper gentleman and walk me home, hmmm?"

With a giggle, she stood up and moved to the front door.

Austria shook his head and followed her, feeling a smile creep on his own lips.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **second chapter is out ^^ I'm posting it quite quickly because the whole fic is actually finished, so I'm just editing and such. ^^ thank you for liking the first chapter, and I hope this one was enjoyable, too!

_Pörkölt (Hungarian) _– Hungarian meat stew dish.

_Buonanotte (Italian)_ – Good night.


	3. Chapter 03

**SOY:** Here you go, third chapter. Austria finally makes a step forwards. Kind of. :D

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

**Chapter 03**

"Do you need help, Roderich?"

Lounging on Austria's expensive (and comfortable) sofa, Italy looked up from his book and glanced in the direction of the kitchen.

Another explosion, louder this time, made him shiver and hide behind the edge of the sofa, as a huge cloud of darkened smoke exited the door of the kitchen, quickly dissipating.

"No, thank you Feliciano, please stay put," Austria's voice was just as calm as usual, so Italy relaxed and slumped back on the sofa again, pouting slightly. "It wouldn't do if I were to have a guest aid me".

"But Eli–"

"Elizaveta is an… exception of sorts, Feliciano".

"Ve~"

Sighing, Italy opened his book again.

He'd been quite happy when Austria had invited him to eat some of his sweets, and as surprised as Italy was, he'd been pleased more than anything else; it wasn't often Austria accepted to share his cakes with Italy, and only if there was someone else with them, such as Germany, Prussia or Hungary.

He had been happy to accept, and that was why he was at Austria's house, a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him.

As it was, though, he was rather bored.

Austria had been busy cooking for the majority of the afternoon, leaving Italy with nothing to do, and as he'd been more than once strictly forbidden from touching most of the things in the sitting room (though Italy had yet to break something).

Drawing was also a no–no, as there was no supply he could use at Austria's house, and that left him with the amount of boring books that Austria kept there for reading purposes.

Italy would have never believed some of the titles could even exist –and even then, he would have thought they had a better placement at Germany's house instead.

Things like 'How to romantically court the person you're in love with', for example, had a familiar feeling, but it was quite old already, probably printed during some year in 1880; a few books were titled in German, and some even in French or Hungarian.

The book Italy was trying to read was a French one and certain passages made him flush –how could Austria, of all people, keep a book with so many printed pictures of people having sex together?

There were also many notes scribbled in the corners and next to the pictures, and Italy easily recognised France's writing.

'_Ve~ brother Francis put this here without Roderich knowing…?'_ looking towards the kitchen from above his shoulder, Italy pondered whether to tell the Austrian nation about it or not.

Besides, the idea of Austria having sex was… weird, to say the least.

Italy entertained himself for a bit, trying to come up with mental images of Austria having sex with someone, but it was almost impossible, and he ended up flustered and fidgety; the other nation didn't look like someone who could do these things, after all.

Still, as he had nothing else to do, Italy continued shifting through the book. Some of France's comments in there were very, very lewd, and certain positions that the Frenchman recommended to Austria were…

Italy flushed crimson and stood up, hurrying to put the book on the shelf and forget about what he'd just read. He really didn't need to picture in his mind how Austria doing position thirty–three would look like.

'_Ve~ I should stop thinking about it…'_

Which was actually hard to do, now that his brain had seen such a possibility.

What did Austria like, in that sense?

Italy wasn't quite that knowledgeable on that, but Germany's magazines hidden under his bed had helped him at least some –though he'd never thought sex included chains, whips and black leather.

Was Austria into that as well?

A shiver ran down his back as a mental image of Austria with a whip in one hand presented to his brain. "V–ve~ s–scary!"

Another explosion helped Italy stop his current train of thoughts, reminding him exactly where he was and what he was thinking about.

Ashamed of his thoughts, he flushed and looked towards the kitchen.

"R–Roderich?"

"Everything is fine, Feliciano!" Austria sounded vaguely annoyed, so Italy flinched and moved away from the bookshelves.

Sighing in boredom, Italy left the sitting room and walked down the main corridor, determined to find something to do whilst Austria cooked; he knew the house just like the back of his hands, and he soon found himself smiling, memories of the past coming back.

He had to stop in front of the main salon because glancing at the wall, he noticed an old painting of a much younger Austria staring towards him.

Why was it there? It had been decades since he'd last entered this room, but had this been there last time? He didn't think it had. Why was it here?

Small smudges of black were on the painting's upper lips, and Italy chuckled to himself, recalling a time when he'd painted moustaches on that one picture –so many years in the past, yet still so vivid.

'_Why did Roderich keep this painting around, if I ruined it so much?'_

The thought that maybe Austria hadn't disliked him so much back then warmed his chest, and he twirled around, smiling brightly with secret glee. He knew that Austria didn't _hate_ him (though for a while he'd been certain of the opposite), but he looked annoyed and distressed at him all the time, yet with evidence such as that painting, Italy didn't know about it anymore.

And now, he'd been invited without any other guest coming along, either… it was a sign of hope, right?

He'd always liked Austria, of course, though he never knew how to act around him, so he was just happy that there was a chance that Austria liked him too!

The music room a few doors ahead called him in, so he gently closed the door behind his back and moved towards the display cases.

There were a few beautiful, old violins, looking so frail yet well–kept, and a couple of flutes. The piano was, of course, the biggest instrument in the room, and the one Austria used the most.

"Uwa~ my Stradivari!"

With glee, Italy recognised his violin standing in a secluded case next to the piano.

He knew that Austria would never throw away such a valuable, beautiful violin, and seeing it after so much time made him feel warm inside; it had been a gift from him, a couple of decades after its constructor's death, and he still remembered how surprised Austria had been, back then, to see Italy part from such a beautiful thing.

Italy hadn't minded –he owed so much to Austria, and he still did, even though Austria would probably think otherwise.

Sitting at the piano, Italy chuckled once again.

Would Austria still be angry at him for touching his beautiful piano, just like he had when Italy had been little?

Yet now, his hands were perfect for the keys, not chubby or too short and small. He could play now.

So he did –fingers dancing with a familiar, easy tune, Italy played one of the songs that he remembered from his childhood.

His style was rough (he preferred violins and guitars, after all) but he still knew how to play, and the notes danced around him with ease, filling the previous silence and shoving it away.

It felt like today was a day for old memories to resurface.

He closed his eyes and continued playing.

…–…–…–…

Wiping his forehead clean of the extra flour, Austria looked at the cakes on the plates with satisfaction.

He'd worked hard all afternoon to satisfy Italy's bottomless stomach, and he was quite proud of his own skills; other than a Sacher, he'd prepared a couple of simpler cream cakes, some pastries and a fruit cake.

Everything was ready, and he wondered just how bright would Italy's face look once he tasted the sweets Austria had prepared especially for him.

"Feliciano!" leaving the kitchen with the plates, Austria looked around the sitting room, expecting to see Italy still sitting on the sofa.

He was severely disappointed to see the room empty.

"Feliciano! Where _are_ you?" voice slipping back into his usual, commanding tone, Austria placed the cakes next to the cooled down tea and made his way down the corridor, glancing around to see if Italy was in one of the rooms.

"Feliciano!" fuming, Austria pressed one hand on his forehead and massaged it.

Why was Italy so infuriating at times? Austria had worked all afternoon to prepare the cakes for him, and what did Italy do? Disappear–

His piano.

Someone was playing on his piano.

Stomping towards the music room, Austria pushed the door open, ready to give Italy a piece of his mind –and stopped there, hand falling at his side.

As he'd expected, Italy was playing the piano, but what shocked him into silence was _the way_ Italy was playing; fingers gracefully dancing on the keys, eyes close, body swaying slightly in rhythm with the music…

The sight took away Austria's anger, and his heart sped up so abruptly that he feared it would burst out of his chest any moment now, throat completely dry.

Unbidden, a strong desire took over his mind, so strong he was left almost nauseous –step forwards, grab Italy by his shoulders, spin him around and kiss–

With a soundless gasp, Austria stopped himself inches away from Italy; the need to kiss him had been so strong, so overwhelming, that he'd moved towards the other Nation without thinking and was now standing behind Italy.

The Italian Nation had not noticed him at all, too caught up in the music to even feel someone had gotten close to him, and Austria remained still.

Hands trembling, Austria took a step back, ashamed and shocked about his own lack of control.

Kiss Italy?

This was getting out of hand. He'd thought…

No, this was just preposterous.

"Feliciano," he stated.

He'd intended to call Italy and make him stop playing, so that he could take his attention away from what he wanted to do to him, but his voice came out as a barking command, and Italy squeaked loudly, jumping up from the piano and turning around in a flash.

The shock of seeing Austria so close made him get even more scared so he flailed around, his feet getting caught in the stool he'd been sitting on previously, and he fell.

Austria let out a soft cry of dismay and moved forwards, grabbing Italy's body and pulling it towards him, holding him close and unconsciously pressing one hand against the back of his head, almost protectively.

"V–ve…"

In the split second that took Austria to realise his actions, realising what he'd just done and that he was holding Italy against his chest, he was also acutely aware of various things –he felt the warmth coming from the other Nation's body, he felt the softness of that auburn hair under his fingers, and he felt his own heart swell with a raw emotion so strong it took his breath away.

So he pushed Italy away, pulling the glasses up his nose and stepping back, cheeks flushed.

Italy stumbled away from the piano, confused and with tears pooling in his eyes, and glanced up at him, almost as if seeking comfort or an explanation; whereas before Austria would have snorted and reprimanded him, now that utterly lost look struck at his inner chords and made him unable to stay angry.

"V–ve~ I'm sorry I touched your piano…" with a soft sniffle, Italy backed away even more.

Austria's hand snapped forwards to grab his wrist before he could run.

"I'm… I'm not angry because of that. You are a… decent musician, Feliciano," hiding his embarrassment behind a stern gaze (though the pink cheeks betrayed him), Austria let out a sigh. "I was calling you. The cakes are ready".

Italy blinked for a second more, almost as if assessing the situation, then his pout turned upwards into a beaming smile. "Yay! Can I still eat them, then?"

Austria nodded, still flushed, and Italy's smile widened even more.

Bouncing out of the room, clearly expecting his host to follow him, Italy continued singing his happiness.

Austria looked down at his fingers. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel Italy's frame against his own, and the soft hair under his hand…

"Ve! Cakes~ Roderich's cakes!"

Shaking himself out from his trance, Austria took a steely control over his feelings again and walked out of the music room, determined in not allowing something like that to happen ever again.

…–…–…–…

Austria glanced at his fridge and cupboards with a cynical expression, quickly shaking his head.

He'd consumed almost all of his ingredients already, after the three cakes he'd prepared for Italy and the one Prussia stole during his last visit, not to mention the amount of sweets he'd baked and had offered to both Liechtenstein and Hungary earlier during the week.

It looked like he'd have to go shopping again.

Looking at the sky from the window of the kitchen, he frowned in distaste when he noticed that dark and heavy clouds were quickly assembling over his house.

Was it going to rain?

Feeling his mood considerably dampened by that, he sighed and took his overcoat and one of his umbrellas, gritting his teeth in distaste when he realised Prussia had once again snatched his best one and substituted it with a silly, pink with yellow chicks one.

Again.

'_Seems like I'll have to let Elizaveta know of his plans to spy on her this weekend…'_ rolling his eyes, Austria closed the door of his house and glanced around.

Prussia would have been at least a decent strategist, if only he didn't forget all of his plans (always written on disposable napkins or on notebook papers) at Austria's house.

All the time.

Just like France and all the disgusting books he attempted to hide between Austria's ones.

He always noticed if something was amiss with his library, after all –though he hoped Italy hadn't seen the latest one during his visit, since the younger Nation had perused his collection whilst Austria had been busy cooking. All those notes and _lewd_ comments…

"Oi, Roderich! Where are you going?"

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Austria looked up and stopped, waiting for Germany to catch up with him.

The other man was taking his dogs out for a walk, probably hurrying because of the darkening sky; the biggest one of the three, the female, was tugging at the leash, almost as if demanding her owner to hurry up.

"Ludwig," he nodded as a greeting. "I noticed I need more ingredients for my cooking, and was going at the shop to get some".

Germany's face darkened a bit.

"I should come with you to make sure you don't get lost," he stated, checking the sky and then his dogs. "Why don't you wait until tomorrow?"

"I can't," Austria shook his head. "I invited Feliciano for lunch".

Germany blinked, wondering since when was Austria inviting Italy over on his own, then shrugged it off. It wasn't his business.

"I see," he grunted as all three of his dogs yapped and rasped at the ground. "Still, I should–"

"Ludwig, your dogs demand your full attention, and you know rather well that at the shop you'd have to tie them outside… and with such a weather, I wouldn't do it. It's going to rain soon, and you know it".

Despite such a reasonable comeback, Germany still didn't look convinced. He'd always felt like he had to take responsibility for Austria's unique ability to get lost even in a small location, and he just _knew_ that he would never be able to get to the shop by himself.

Still, his dogs were tugging furiously at his leash, and he could not ignore their needs, either.

With a sigh, he quickly pulled out a pen.

"Roderich, do you have a paper?"

He was handed a crumpled notebook sheet. On one side, Germany recognised his own brother's scratches and a crude attempt at depicting a naked Hungary. Flushing crimson in embarrassment, he quickly turned it around and jotted down a stylized map.

"Here, you never know, it might be useful…" he returned the paper, carefully ignoring the other side of it. "I'll… talk with _bruder_," he muttered after a moment.

Then, despite knowing that the map wouldn't be enough for Austria, Germany nodded at him and moved away, hurrying up in his pace so he'd get home faster.

Austria watched him for a moment more before checking the map. It was roughly done, but it was understandable enough. He just needed to walk for a bit, then turn right, head left, walk some more, and he'd get to the shop.

So, lost as he was in his thoughts –as usual, he barely paid attention to where he was going– he only realised that he'd reached the mall when he found himself standing in front of the sliding doors.

Blinking in stupor, Austria looked around.

This hadn't been his arrival point at all; he'd meant to go to his usual shop, not here…

Shaking slightly his head, Austria shrugged and entered the mall. It had some more ingredients than he was used to, but it also had better quality, so it was all good.

It took him less than twenty minutes to gather all he needed, and was surprised to see he'd picked quite the choice; paying and exiting the place again, Austria didn't even realise he had failed to pick up his umbrella from the rack.

The fact became painfully obvious when he left the mall and felt droplets of water cascade on his head and on his plastic bags.

"Oh, that is–"

For a moment, Austria pondered whether to return into the mall and wait for the rain to stop, but quickly dismissed the idea; it was already half past ten, and he wouldn't have enough time to prepare the lunch if he waited any more.

He'd been inviting Italy over for lunch, dinner or 'just for a slice of cake' for the last two weeks, but, much to Austria's dismay, the only thing that had changed had been his own feelings for the Italian nation.

They had, contrarily to his hopes, deepened.

Spending time with Italy had proved to be definitely pleasant, much more so than he had anticipated.

True to Hungary's words, they had much in common, and Austria found himself looking forwards to the time Italy would come over.

They had watched dive on TV for three afternoons together, commenting on the performances of all the athletes, cheering for their respective participants, they had shared their opinions on how they both disliked reality shows (and how secretly they both followed at least one soap opera, much to their embarrassment)…

More so, they had started playing together –Italy with one of his violins, accompanying Austria's piano, and that had been as close to bliss as only music could ever bring him.

Austria refused to analyze how he felt now, because he was afraid of giving a name to his feelings. It wasn't a crush anymore, unfortunately.

He was starting to believe that he might have fall–

A thunder echoed in the sky, followed shortly by a lightening, and Austria shook himself out of his thoughts and quickened his pace.

He didn't want to stay any more in this weather, and it was raining harder now, too…

Far too quickly, the soft downpour turned into a storm, and Austria had to give up. He didn't know where he was, and the rain made it hard to look at where he was going, so after meeting another dead end, he moved back to the main road and took shelter under a bus stop roof.

He was almost completely soaked, and in a bad mood, and his glasses were so wet he could barely see five inches from his nose.

If the rain kept on coming, he'd be unable to get home in time to prepare lunch, and then he'd have to witness Italy's sad, disappointed face. Above everything else, this was probably the worst.

"I guess today is definitely not my day…"

Leaning against the glass panel of the bus stop, Austria sighed and pulled the hems of his coat tightly against his frame. He was cold and in an even worse mood. Really, if things could get any worse, they wou–

"Roderich!"

Startled, Austria looked up, pushing his wet hair away from his eyes.

In front of him, blurry because of his wet eyeglasses, with a big umbrella in both hands and a smile warmer than a sun, stood Italy; to Austria's eyes, he looked like an angel. Which was probably an exaggeration, but Austria was keen on being lenient towards people who were up to save him.

"Feliciano! What… what are you doing here?"

Italy beamed and moved closer, splashing droplets of rain against Austria's already smudged lens.

"Ludwig called me to warn me where you were going, and since I was supposed to come at your house for lunch he thought I wouldn't mind a detour!"

Austria silently addressed a heartfelt _'thank you'_ to the German man, noting to himself he'd have to properly thank him one day.

"Thank you, I appreciate it, Feliciano," he stated loudly.

Italy's dry hands curled around his own for a moment, and Austria took a deep breath, feeling warmth seep into his wet fingers once again. Then, he felt the heaviness of one of the bags disappear together with the warm hand.

"I'll take one, you keep the other~ ah, but you're taller, so you should hold the umbrella, sorry about that!"

The handle of the umbrella was offered to him, and a second later Italy intertwined his arm with that of Austria, holding him close.

"Let's go now, ve~"

They started walking under the rain, with Austria trying to come to terms with the sudden closeness to Italy, when he realised the other was slightly trembling.

"Feliciano… is everything ok? Are you cold?" he was feeling guilty, but knew that he couldn't do much to warm Italy up, since he was wet and cold himself.

"N–no, I'm fine, Roderich~" Italy turned to look up at him with a shaky smile, but his words were quickly confuted when a loud thunder echoed around them.

Italy squealed and promptly hid his face against Austria's arm, shaking even more. Eyes widening in recognition, the Austrian man realised that Italy was still scared of thunderstorms, just like he'd been when at his house.

Such a fear that it even made Italy forget about not touching him…

Feeling utterly responsible, Austria cringed. "I'm… sorry you had to come out with such a weather…"

"V–ve~ it's ok, I didn't think about it when I came to search for you…" Italy clutched tightly at his wet arm, cringing when another loud thunder cracked above their heads.

The rain was so strong Austria had to lean closer so the other would hear him.

"Feliciano, if you knew there would be thunders, why didn't you stay home?"

"B–because you were out here alone and lost and in the rain and I was very worried, ve~ what kind of person would I be if I were to let you down like this?"

His words would have been more heart–warming, had he not been clutching at Austria's arm for his dear life, but they were touching nonetheless, and the musician found himself pulling Italy even closer, looking to the side with a blush.

"Thank you, Feliciano," he murmured.

"Ve~"

It was then –drenched because of the rain, with water God–only–knew–where, and Italy holding at his arm like a desperate, frightened puppy– that Austria simply gave up. There was no point in denying it anymore.

He'd fallen in love with that idiot Italy, and there was nothing he could do to refute the truth anymore.

Somehow, the thought made him smile.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **I hope the pace is enjoyable enough for you, though I'm not sure… please comment if you like?

_bruder (German)_ – brother.


	4. Chapter 04

**SOY:** I feel I'm writing all the fluff I have in me with this fic, but at least I'm having fun. What do you think about it?

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

**Chapter 04**

The dining room at Hungary's house was quite big; the woman had never felt the need to change it, so the feeling one got when entering her residence was of having fallen back in time, right through centuries and back to the early 1500.

Not even the few modern touches here and there –the radiators carefully masked on the walls, the cordless phone in the corner, and some other things– managed to make a difference.

It was almost refreshing, and it put Austria at ease –he'd always appreciated Hungary's taste in décor.

"So, like… what did you call _me_ for?"

Austria pressed one hand on his face and slowly exhaled, eyes carefully close to avoid staring at the two Nations sitting in front of him.

He needed to stay calm and not let this bother him. When he had decided to (in Hungary's words) 'suck it up and act', he had also accepted the fact that he would need help. After all, he wasn't quite knowledgeable in such matters.

With him, things had always moved in a certain way, and during his long life, while he'd had numerous relationships based on the physical aspect, the bonds forged and maintained on stable feelings had been two –Hungary, with whom he'd shared most of his life, and even now was close to, and Prussia, as much as he did not like to admit it.

During their marriage and union, Hungary had been the one to handle things about their relationship, and Austria had followed her pace, although on his own way.

He didn't know how to pursue, and at the most, his dignity would not allow him much leeway.

That was why he was sitting in Hungary's kitchen, facing his former wife and her best friend.

"I… need… your help, Feliks," he stated. Of the two options, talking with Poland felt the safest one. Hungary was still looking at him with that strange glint in her eyes that made Austria feel like a deer about to get shot. "It is… about Feliciano".

"Feli? Like, what about him?" Poland munched on a cookie, carefully nibbling around the creamy centre before eating it last. "Play nice, Roddie!"

Austria's left eyebrow twitched.

"I…"

Hungary, probably realising Austria would reprimand Poland's nickname and things would just deviate into a verbal fight, moved to the side, grabbing the blond Nation's hand into her own and making him look up at her. "What Roderich means to say is that he's fallen for Feli and needs our help with that!"

Poland slowly swallowed a second cookie, taking his time and carefully brushing away the crumbles from his chin, then turned to look at the Austrian Nation with a suspicious gaze. His eyes were narrowed in distrust, and Austria felt vaguely intimidated. "Is that, like, the truth? Do you like Feli, Roddie?"

Flushing in a mix of anger and embarrassment, Austria refused to give in to his desire to run. Running would be demeaning. Instead, he gave an almost invisible nod.

Poland's distrusting attitude did not change. He leaned forwards, pushing his hair back with one hand and keeping eye–contact with Austria as he did so.

"Like, how much?"

"How much what?"

"_How much_ do you like Feli?" he grunted. It was clearly a protective grunt. Austria inwardly rolled his eyes. "You never did give him the eye before, so I, like, have totally the right ta ask you that!"

Austria fought the urge to look away, repeating to himself that Poland had the right to ask, that he was one of Italy's best friends, and that he just wanted to make sure, and took a deep breath.

"I…" it was quite hard to put what he felt in words. His thoughts were not following the usual linear trails, and he didn't quite like it. Yet, he knew it was worth it, in the end. Even possible humiliation was. "My feelings for Feliciano are…"

Poland leaned forwards some more, making Austria recoil.

He found it hard to swallow, with those eyes narrowed at him, waiting for him to speak of his private feelings, and… it was difficult to express himself.

Austria licked his lips and tried again. "What I feel for Feliciano is… I do l–" he stopped again, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

"Is it, like, about sex?" Poland prodded, his frown intensified even more.

"W…. what? N–no!" he screeched; his cheeks couldn't get redder than they were, and he felt completely affronted.

At such an accuse, he couldn't even reply, speechless and–

Then, much to his shock, Poland's seriousness cracked and he started snickering.

The seriousness vanished into nothingness, and Austria felt suddenly unbalanced. What the–

"You should have, like, seen your face! I mean, like, totally fa–bu-lo–us!"

Austria opened his mouth, but was still unable to speak.

"Relax, Roddie, I trust Eli's word that you're madly in love with Feli, but I just had to check for myself, like, really!" Poland smiled proudly.

"T–that is outrageous!" standing up, cheeks aflame, Austria paced away from the two friends, utterly ashamed.

Hungary smiled softly, approaching the Austrian aristocrat and gently patting his shoulder. "You should work on this, Roderich… if you can't even explain your feelings to me and Feliks, how will you express them to Feli?"

Utterly deflated, Austria allowed her to lead him to sit again, mortified and defeated.

She was right. He had no idea on how to proceed, and he needed them.

It took him over five minutes of silence to look up at the two friends, voice quiet as he asked, "will you help me?"

Poland and Hungary smiled warmly at him. "Of course," they assured.

He sighed and nodded, feeling vaguely relieved.

…–…–…–…

"Welcome again, Feliciano," Austria opened the door and let Italy in.

The Italian nation smiled brightly at him and bounced inside, chirping a greeting at the older man; once again, he'd been invited for lunch, and Italy was starting to consider it a habit, and a pleasant one.

He liked spending time with Austria, and despite the initial embarrassment and insecurity on what to do once in the same room with him, things had relaxed, and Italy had started to truly enjoy their time together.

"Ve, Roderich, how are the begonias?"

Austria halted his movements and turned towards him, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "They're growing," he replied, thoughts straying to the flowers Italy had helped him plant.

With practiced ease (or with what he hoped _was_ practiced ease), he placed both of his hands on Italy's shoulders and helped him remove the coat, placing it on the nearby rack; one of the first advices both Poland and Hungary had offered him was to grow accustomed to touching Italy first –brief and casual touches, nothing more, nothing less.

Austria knew that most of his problems with Italy were based on his actions in the past, the barrier he'd put between them, preventing Italy from giving him the same treatment he gave to others (the touching, the hugging and the kissing, mostly), and even though Austria himself wasn't keen on such overly affectionate behaviour, he still longed for it at the same time.

If he started by offering the touches himself, maybe Italy would see that he wanted things to change, and as a result share with Austria his warmth.

Italy probably knew that Austria would never be overly open to casual hugs or kisses in the middle of the street, or when others were around, but fleeting, sweet and brief contacts were perfectly ok.

He would make it so Italy understood.

Italy watched him for a second, then blinked and tilted his head to the side, smiling brightly. "What was that you wanted to do this afternoon?"

"There is an art exhibition in a nearby town," the musician replied, guiding Italy towards the dining room. "I thought that maybe you'd want to come with me".

"Ve~! Is it paintings or sculpture?"

"It is mostly a painting exposition, but I heard there will be a special area completely devoted to renaissance sculptures".

"Sounds splendid!" Italy bounced around happily.

Austria leaned forwards and pressed his hand on the other Nation's shoulder, steering him towards the table and moving the chair for him.

Once again, he tried being inconspicuous, while at the same time wondering if he was making some sort of progress; Italy didn't look like he minded being touched, but at the same time, he didn't seem to have _noticed_ Austria's attempts.

Maybe Hungary and Poland had been right in telling him Italy was quite blind when it came to realising things regarding himself…

Or maybe he was being too subtle.

"Please stay put while I bring in the meal, Feliciano," he stated, forcing his lips upwards in what hoped was a relatively warm smile.

Italy looked at him, a mix of confusion and curiosity, but nodded.

'_Ve~ Roderich has been acting strange lately… I hope he's not sick.'_

Italy pondered over that subject as Austria moved to the kitchen and returned with two plates; Austrian politics and economy didn't seem bad at all, so maybe it was just Austria being too rough on himself.

His thoughts stopped when his nose picked up the delicious aroma of pasta, and he looked up at Austria with an adoring gaze.

"Ah! You made pasta~! _Grazie,_ Roderich!" the Austrian never did try his hands at Italy's favourite dish, so Italy was positively beaming.

In a clearly unconscious act, Italy leaned forwards and grabbed Austria's hand into his own, squeezing it and waving it up and down; the other Nation's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected (yet definitely not unwanted) touch, and his cheeks coloured.

Maybe they _were_ getting somewhere, after all?

"Ah, Fel–"

Italy froze, and promptly let go of the other Nation's hand, feeling mortified of his own actions. "I–I'm sorry Roderich!" he yelped, hiding both hands under the table, clenched into fists on his lap.

He knew perfectly well that his behaviour wasn't appreciated by Austria, who had always looked down on his affectionate, improper attitude, which was actually why he was usually tense around the Austrian Nation.

While hard to do, he still kept under control his instincts, stopping every time he felt the need to hug, touch or (God forbid) kiss Austria in a sudden rush of happiness.

"No, wait, Feliciano!" frantic now that he'd seen the sudden flash of shame in Italy's eyes, Austria smiled and gently pressed his fingers on Italy's wrist.

It wouldn't look too intimate, yet close enough to satisfy both, he thought.

"Ve?"

"I… I don't mind that," flushed and embarrassed, Austria looked down at the silky tablecloth. It was horribly awkward, yet he needed to make all of this clear.

"As long as you don't hug me or kiss me in public, I can… tolerate _this_," he emphasised, gently pressing his hand above Italy's and squeezing it. "It is quite… pleasant".

He knew this was rather bold on his part, but he could not stop himself. Maybe Italy would get the hint, maybe he'd become aware that Austria's feelings were not cold nor just 'friendly' in their approach, maybe…

"I'm happy Roderich considers me a friend, finally!"

Austria's thoughts came to a sudden halt. Not exactly what…

He looked at Italy, eyes vaguely wider, saw the warm, bright smile the other was offering him, and decided that for now, this was quite fine already.

With a softer, calmer smile, Italy hesitantly pressed his own fingers over Austria's, quickly retreating, not sure how much he was allowed to prolong the contact.

"I promise you won't regret it, ve~"

Italy _meant_ it –he'd longed to be more open with Austria, just like with his other friends, and had always been a bit envious of the closeness Hungary, Austria and Prussia shared (and at times, even Switzerland, not to mention Germany).

After all, he'd thought the two of them could be close, but all his attempts before had always been rejected and considered unwanted, and Italy had long since accepted that Austria would never allow him close…

Yet, now…

Now, Austria had given him a small hope, again. Maybe things were really looking up… Italy wanted nothing more than show Austria he would not disappoint him.

…–…–…–…

"So you, like, invited him over to a museum?"

Austria glanced at Italy, who was currently sitting a few seat away from him, dangling his feet around and watching outside as the bus circled a huge statue in the middle of the street. "It is not a museum, it's an art exhibition".

"Yeah, like, the same thing really," Poland's voice suggested Austria the image of him waving one hand around, rolling his eyes. He sighed. "Still, Feli likes that kind of thing, so I suggest you to do something really nice while you are there".

Austria blinked. Something nice?

"What do you mean?"

"Like, pay his ticket for him, or totally offer him something to drink afterwards," there was a soft scuffle, then some noise.

Hungary's voice replaced Poland's on the other end of the phone. "You're always stingy with money, so if you pay it will be a clear change from your usual attitude!"

Austria's eyebrow twitched, yet he had to relent and admit Hungary was, once again, right; he didn't like spending money, unless in certain occasions or to make himself look good in regards to Switzerland (theirs was a very complex relationship, after all). But would Italy notice this?

He didn't have time to tell the two about his actions during lunch, because the next stop was where they were headed, so with a hushed and polite word, he closed the communication and walked towards Italy.

"Ve~ I'm so happy about this~"

For a moment, the musician wondered whether to agree or make a passing comment about the art they'd see, then he decided otherwise.

"Do you… ah, Feliciano, do you like spending time in my company?"

Italy's neck almost got whiplash with his haste to look up at Austria and nod energetically. "O–of course I do, Roderich!" his cheeks turned a vague pink shade as he reached forwards to touch Austria's fingers with his own. "We always talk about interesting things!"

Stepping out of the bus, Austria pointed towards the exhibit hall and gently steered Italy in that direction, one of his hands remaining on his back for a few seconds more than it should have.

"It makes me glad you think so, Feliciano," he admitted, smiling slightly. "But… maybe you'd prefer the company of someone else, like Feliks, for example? I am not a funny person, and…" he cleared his throat. "I… I always acted too strictly on your regards".

Italy stopped in the middle of the street, once again looking at the taller nation, this time with a small frown and a pout on his lips.

He clearly looked conflicted and confused, but Austria waited for him to speak, almost dreading what he'd say next.

"Roderich was… strict with me, yes," Italy looked forwards, starting to walk again, and Austria followed him. "You made me cry a lot, and for a period I was really really scared of you…"

Austria flinched in reflex, but Italy gently patted his arm, still hesitant. It was in moments like these that the Austrian nation regretted his past actions.

"But Roderich… didn't hate me, right?" Italy's tone was hesitant as he said so, yet with a curious strength into it. "Because even if I thought you hated me back then… now I think you didn't. Because you still keep a painting I ruined, and because I remember when… _he_ went away, and you treated me nicely, and…" Italy's voice cracked, but he paused and continued as if nothing was wrong. "And I realise that I was a handful, and Austria had a hard time opening up with others…"

With a startled look that made Italy chuckle softly, Austria shook his head slowly. He had been a brat during his teenager years, a fact that he could acknowledge now, but he had no trouble in admitting that in such a historical period, he'd been wary of being attacked by other Nations.

Still, to know Italy had understood, if only in minimal part, made his heart grow warmer all of sudden.

"I…" not knowing what to say, Austria simply continued walking, overwhelmed by the situation.

"So if Roderich is trying to be nice now, I don't mind it at all~" Italy concluded, still smiling. "Ve~ that's the building! Let's go!"

Austria watched Italy speed up towards the building, looking up at where a huge banner spelling out 'Art Exhibition' in English and German was, and felt his lips twitch upwards in a smile.

Maybe he did have a chance with him, after all.

"Two tickets, please," he stated when they reached the ticket booth, completely ignoring Italy's attempts to pay for himself. "Allow me, Feliciano," he replied, holding one of Italy's arms into his grip to prevent him from flailing it around. "I want to," he added, looking into the Italian man's eyes.

Italy nodded, quietly thanking him, then moved towards the entrance, waiting until Austria was at his side to get in.

The exhibit was up to the expectance of both, and halfway through the third hall, Austria found himself engrossed in a meaningful conversation with Italy on the different details that various styles of painting brought out.

Austria himself wasn't much of an artist; he liked art the way he liked music, but whilst he was apt at the latter, his firm hands and his mindset didn't allow him to create art that he could be satisfied of.

Listening to Italy talk passionately about how mixing colours the old way enhanced the natural, vivid feeling of a painting made Austria, if possible, fall even more for the other Nation.

It was this kind of raw passion that Austria himself could only associate to music, and the way Italy's brown eyes burned while describing a few of his favourite painters (some of which he'd actually met) that made Austria shiver inwardly.

Italy had stopped speaking, and Austria for a moment couldn't understand why, then he realised that it was because he'd moved closer to the other while lost in his thoughts, and was now standing a few inches away from Italy, who was staring up at him in confusion.

"Ve~? Is there something on my face, Roderich?"

It would have been rather easy to just lean down and–

Shaking his head, fighting the absurd flush on his cheeks, Austria restrained himself and gently brushed something invisible away from Italy's face.

"There was something on there," he murmured, feeling silly and embarrassed, yet managing to keep his voice even. "Uh… i–it's ok now".

"Thank you Roderich! You're always so nice~"

Austria swallowed and looked to the side, still thinking about how he'd just been about to kiss Italy in the middle of an art exhibition, in front of who knew how many people.

Yet, a part of him didn't care –he'd been lost in Italy's company, and no one else mattered anymore. It was a definitely scary thought, yet the desire to still lean down was still present inside him.

This craving, this need –it was unlike he'd ever felt before.

It took all of his willpower not to let himself go to his basic instincts, yet to not to give in, at least partly, would have been impossible.

"Why don't we continue towards the sculptures now?" he motioned towards the next room, gently pressing his hand on Italy's back to guide him there.

The touch lingered, though doing nothing much to soothe his longing, and Austria didn't remove his hand from that spot, acutely aware of the way Italy's shoulder brushed against his chest, the closeness both unbearable and wanted.

If Italy noticed or wondered about his actions, he didn't voice his questions, instead opting for a long speech about the majestic, splendid sculptures they were staring up at.

The rest of the afternoon was spent completing the tour of the exhibit area, and much to the musician's surprise, Italy (while not clinging at him) still maintained the same closeness Austria himself had set, not an inch too close for comfort.

It was even reassuring, in a way.

"Ve, I'm quite hungry~ Roderich, could we stop at that ice cream parlour before we go back?" leaving the building with a photo book on the exhibit, Italy looked at the other nation almost expectantly, hoping for an affirmative reply.

With a nod, Austria felt his lips twitch upwards again, which prompted a grin from Italy.

"I hope you believe me now, when I say I've had fun today, too~" he stated then, crossing the street and playfully glancing back to Austria. "It is not always I get to talk about art with people…"

"I also had fun today," Austria's voice couldn't get more honest than that. "Spending time in your company is definitely pleasant".

It took Austria a few seconds to notice the fierce flush on Italy's cheeks at the light of the streetlamps, but when he did, he couldn't hide his smile; Italy moved towards the man behind the counter and pointed at the ice cream he wanted, while Austria tried to collect himself.

He'd followed what Poland and Hungary had suggested, and the situation had improved a bit, but now he wanted even more.

Paying for Italy's treat (and a small cup of tiramisu–flavoured ice cream for himself), Austria walked the Italian home; he knew that Poland and Hungary would be waiting him at his house to know the details of this 'date', yet he was in no hurry to let Italy go, either.

As he stopped in front of Italy's house in Venice, he idly wondered what the next step in this 'courting' would be.

At least, he was doing things properly…

"Ah… Roderich…?"

Italy hesitated for a split second, hands clutching the hem of his shirt; he wanted to properly thank Austria for everything –for paying his ticket, and his ice cream, and for spending so much time with him, not just listening to him prattle about art, but for actually commenting and showing interest in that– but he did not know how to do it.

Austria had stated that brief contact would be tolerated, unless in front of other people, but Italy's heart was brimming with happiness and warmth, and he didn't know how to convey that with a small touch or with few words, so that Austria could understand it.

Inviting him over so many days of the week, cooking for him, playing on the piano just because Italy asked him to…

Every small action showed Austria's care, and Italy was grateful for all of it.

Not knowing what had prompted it, he could only feel this happiness double with every day spent in Austria's presence, and he hoped that Austria took the same enjoyment in his company, too.

He could do it just this once, could he?

Spontaneously, Italy moved forwards and wrapped his arms around the Austrian Nation's shoulders, forcing himself to keep the contact short and light; he breathed in the taller man's familiar scent for a second, smiling secretly against his shirt, then pulled away.

He used the next second to admire Austria's flushed cheeks and his shocked expression, still grinning.

"Ve~, thank you so much! I hope you can come over next Monday, so I'll be the one cooking for you, ok?"

Hurrying away so that Austria wouldn't yell at him for his sudden gesture, Italy giggled and shut the door of his house behind his back, heart thumping fast.

He was used to hug people as a thank you, or simply because he felt like it, but this time…

This time, it had felt different.

None of the hugs he'd shared with others had ever felt this good before.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **So, that was it. Please drop me a comment if you liked this chapter ^^

Whoa, no translations needed. That's a first, lol…


	5. Chapter 05

**SOY:** so, another chapter is out. Austria attempts something :D do you think he'll manage it right? Sorry for the horribly long wait, I kind of forgot I hadn't posted this chapter already… *shame*

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

**Chapter 05**

The delicious smell of meat wafted through the kitchen, the beef in the fry pan fizzling as Italy, with expert hands, rolled it on the other side, applying a small amount of salt onto it, smiling in satisfaction at the small cloud of smoke coming up to his face.

Shifting to the boiling pot on the next stove, he stirred the vegetables inside with a spoon and tasted a piece of carrot, nodding to himself.

"Ch– you're doing all of this for a stupid German! What enjoyment do you get out of this?"

Romano was sitting at the table, glaring at his brother as he danced around the stoves with practiced ease, eyes darkened in anger.

Ignoring his brother's grunts, Italy checked the oven to see if the cake was baking well. "Ve~ fifteen minutes more…"

South Italy let out a loud 'chigii!' before busying himself with a magazine, sifting through the pages with anger. Once again, his brother was doing things, and none was for him!

"Lovi~? Can you try this and tell me if it's any good?"

As if nothing was wrong and he had not just brushed off his brother's complaints (though that was normal for the two of them), Italy turned around and offered a small piece of meat to Romano, who glared at him but leaned forwards, opening his lips obediently and chewing on it.

"It's good," he admitted after a moment. "But it needs a bit more wine".

Italy nodded at him and added a small amount of wine in the pot where the pieces of meat were boiling.

"You're cooking an awful lot of shit, all for that stupid prick of an aristocrat," the older of the two grumbled again, folding his arms on his chest and looking to the side. "Was it necessary to do two courses of meat, stew, a cake and prepare a bottle of our prized _Limoncello_? It'll be a waste!"

"Don't be so mean, Lovi~" Italy looked at him with a disappointed face, and Romano cursed inwardly. He hated when his brother used that look on him. "Roderich has been very nice to me lately~"

"But he's always been a frigging prick for decades! Now, only because he's been 'nice' to you for a few weeks," he lifted two fingers of each hand to quote the word, "you go all out for him on a dinner? It's stupid!"

"Brother, I've always wanted to be friends with Roderich, and I won't ruin this chance just because you want me to!"

Spluttering in indignation, Romano looked back at his magazine, but kept muttering under his breath, angered at his brother's cheerful attitude.

Italy knew that Romano was just trying to hide his concern behind his usual grumpy attitude, and was partly grateful for that, but he was set on trying to impress Austria.

He'd not been able to be completely honest to the man before, but what he thought had always been important to Italy; Austria had been his first Nation caretaker after Rome had died, and even though he'd sometimes been mean and strict, Italy had always looked up at him.

After his grandfather's death, Italy had been left alone, helpless in his status as a colony, territories not yet a Nation, afraid to disappear into nothing like many others like him had.

Rome had never taught Italy how to fight and defend himself, believing that Italy would be able to live peacefully, and he'd died before he could rectify his actions, leaving him behind unable to even hold up a sword.

Italy only had his arts to back himself up, his literature, his poems. He was afraid of losing all of this with wars and battles and pain, and if that meant not to be a nation, then it was ok.

Then, Austria had taken him under his care, and things had changed.

Austria had been, by all means, everything Italy was not.

He was skilled and versed in battle and arts alike, respectful and calm in situations that Italy could barely understand, smart and even regal, not easily rattled by things, either…

If that was how being a Nation was, he'd thought at that time, then maybe it was worth it. Maybe if Italy could toughen up and be stronger, he could one day become like Austria.

Yes, Austria had been scary back then, but Italy always admired him greatly, and had strived to accomplish something –anything– so that the Austrian Nation would stop looking down on him.

He'd failed every single time, but he'd never given up.

This was his chance, finally, after so many years of longing and losing hope, and he was _not_ going to ruin it. He would try to make Austria realise that Italy was, by all means, grown up and worth of his time, even if he hadn't turned out like he'd wished to.

"It'll be fine… it will be a good dinner, ve~"

Romano looked up at him from the edges of his magazine, and let out a soft sigh. He needed to call that stupid Potato Lover with the cute yellow chick and force him to go out for a pizza or something.

It was better than wandering alone, or stay at his own house while Italy wasted his evening.

…–…–…–…

"The dinner was delicious, Feliciano," Austria nodded graciously at his host, sipping the last droplets of his wine with a satisfied sigh. "It has been a while since I've tasted such a perfect mix of foods".

Italy's cheeks flushed in elation, and he quickly tried to hide his reaction from the other nation by turning around, smiling. "Ve~ I'm glad Roderich liked it! I worked hard to prepare everything in time~"

"You shouldn't have overworked yourself, though… it wasn't such an important occasion, after all" Austria continued, shaking his head.

He was happy, of course, but also feeling guilty for all the work Italy had put himself through to prepare such a delectable meal.

"N–no, it wasn't that hard!" trying to minimize his work as his satisfaction slipped away at Austria's words, Italy turned around and stood up from the table. "Besides, I wanted to thank you for all the times you've cooked for me in the last few weeks, and for inviting me to the exhibit…"

"I've done that by my own volition, it was a pleasure," with a reassuring glance, Austria straightened his back. "I wouldn't mind a coffee now, though… and I have composed something I'd like to recite for you".

"Ah? A composition? You mean a song, Roderich?"

Italy moved towards the kitchen with a pile of dirty plates, dropping them in the sink and placing on the stove the coffee pot he'd previously prepared, knowing Austria would want one at the end of the dinner.

"… no, it is not a song… it is a poem, actually," Austria was glad Italy was in the kitchen, because mentioning the poem made his cheeks turn instantly to a crimson colour.

Poland had been adamant in his advice –Italy loved the written word, and for him nothing would be more appealing and revealing than a poem written by Austria's hands that could expose his feelings for him in a way that would not be mistaken for anything else.

"A poem?" Italy peered from the kitchen with curiosity. "I didn't know you wrote poems…?"

"Uh, well, that is, only sometimes," the other Nation admitted, feeling vaguely sheepish.

Italy was positively surprised. He knew Austria had many talents, but he hadn't known they extended to poetry, as well.

"I would love to listen to it!" he chirped, willing the coffee to get ready as soon as possible.

"Thank you," was the slow reply, followed by a soft rustling of paper.

When Italy returned to the dining room, two cups of Italian coffee in his hands, Austria had moved from the table to the sofa, and was waiting for him; the Italian Nation sat down in front of him, holding one of the cups and taking a sip, eager to listen to Austria's poem.

Inhaling deeply, forcing himself not to feel silly (he wondered if being silly came with being in love), Austria glanced at the first line of the poem and started reciting it.

It had taken him almost three days of research, studying every single line, trying to make it perfect in every detail, every shade, every word, determined in achieving flawlessness.

It had been hard, but he didn't want to fail this time.

He'd compared Italy to a flower, the comparison so blatant and obvious to his eyes that he was sure Italy would understand everything by listening to his poem, with the beauty of the flower to which he'd dedicated his whole attention.

Because to him, Italy was delicate and fragile like a flower, petals opening up to soak in the sunlight, yet strong and harmonious in his core, able to show the beauty he had to others, but protecting what he cared for within himself, able to blossom even through snow, colouring a garden with bright colours…

So he expressed everything he felt, carefully thought–out words painting out a field and a flower, a beautiful flower loved by many except by a solitary tree, and how things had changed, making the tree aware of how precious to him the flower was.

A declaration of love in sweet, pastel tones.

Austria had worked hard with words and metaphors, and it was with fingers shaking and thrill running through his veins that he fell silent at the end, swallowing and looking up at Italy, anticipation clenching around his throat.

He'd put what he felt in words, and he only needed to wait for Italy's reaction and response now.

"Ve~" Italy tilted his head to the side, clearly deep in thought.

Austria licked his dry lips. "Feliciano?"

"Ah… t–that was…" shaking his head, Italy blinked. "It was such a beautiful poem, Roderich…" brown eyes bright with admiration. "I knew you were talented, but to show such a skill with words…"

Cheeks turning even redder, Austria decided that maybe feeling silly was worth it, if he could get complimented by Italy this way.

"I'm glad you decided to share it with me, ve~" standing up from the armchair, Italy moved closer and held Austria's hand into his own, smiling gently at the still sitting Nation. "Though I have to ask something~"

"Ah?" Austria blinked, flush quickly disappearing as he frowned at Italy in confusion. "What is it?" he blinked, suddenly worried.

"What inspired you to write that? Why did you choose a tree and a flower to symbolise unrequited love? And why didn't you express what the flowers feels before concluding the poem?"

There was a second of stillness as Austria processed Italy's words, then his eyes widened and he looked to the side; he had thought… wasn't his poem… clear enough? Was Italy trying to reject him without being too forwards about it?

Unrequited love…?

Was this Italy's delicate way to push him away?

The thought hurt.

At Austria's sudden and unexpected reaction, Italy backed away, feeling utterly stupid.

He'd just listened to a beautiful poem, and he'd apparently showed Austria his ignorance once again, by asking something apparently idiotic to the other nation.

"Ve… I'm sorry…" with a sigh, Italy sat on the armchair again, pouting. "I guess my questions were stupid… B–but the poem is really _so_ beautiful, yet I don't really understand… why did you write it? Does it have a meaning that I don't get? What does the flower represent?"

Austria looked sharply at him again, flustered.

The poem wasn't clear enough? How could it be? Austria had worked so hard to find the right words… was it so obscure that even Italy (usually one to catch nuances in poems) couldn't see whom it was dedicated to?

Standing up all of sudden, Austria cleared his throat and moved to the door, trying to ignore the growing embarrassment of his failed confession; he felt utterly ashamed –he'd worked so hard on that poem, yet he'd failed in making sure his feelings would be understood.

He felt silly and stupid and…

What should he do?

He'd made a fool out of himself, and he desperately needed to talk with Hungary and Poland, and…

"V–ve! Roderich! Don't go! I didn't mean to insult you!" a hand curled around his sleeve, trying to keep him from leaving.

He didn't want to turn around, far too ashamed of his own stupidity to even want to _look_ at Italy in the face, but the other man's words made him stop and look anyway.

Italy's face was the portrait of grief; his expression was open and hurt as he frantically tried to stop Austria.

"You didn't… you didn't insult me, Feliciano," he murmured in reply, shaking his head. "It seems that I simply overestimated my ability to make a poem that could convey what I felt".

"But…" Italy tried to come up with something to say, but he really couldn't find anything to say. "I'm sorry I couldn't understand it…" and he meant it. The beauty of the poem itself, the meaning of it, Italy could understand all of this, but apparently it hadn't been enough.

He released Austria's sleeve, and Austria felt even more helpless than before. "Please don't… don't be overly distressed over this, Feliciano. I've had a splendid dinner, and this means… nothing, I swear".

With that, Austria nodded, gently patting Italy on his shoulder, and left, reassured that Italy would be fine.

Italy looked at the closed door in distress, feeling like he'd ruined his chance to finally have Austria change opinion of him.

Why did he have to ask all those questions? It was his curious nature, he should have remained silent, allowing Austria to think that everything had been clear…

Yet he still couldn't understand. The poem was beautiful, yes, but it was so abstract, something he hadn't thought Austria would ever be, and though splendid, it didn't really feel complete or open.

"Ve…"

Picking up the phone, Italy curled on the sofa and dialled the number of the only person that could cheer him up.

"_Słucham"._

"Ve~ Feliks?" he sniffled a bit, and on the other end, Poland blinked and dropped the nail polisher on the newspaper page he'd placed over his bed.

"Feli? Why are you calling me?" Poland picked the nail polisher again and checked the nails of his feet, nodding in satisfaction and the delicate shade of pearly white he'd chosen for them. "Is there a problem?"

Italy let out a soft sigh and recounted to his best friend what had happened with Austria; Poland listened quietly, only making a noise here and there to reassure Italy that he was still listening.

"Wait, what was, like, the poem about?" he asked when Italy explained Austria's hasty departure.

Italy fidgeted. He was unable to tell it whole, but he still remembered a few parts, and he stated them through the phone.

On the other end, he could hear Poland hiss. "Wait, _that_ was the poem?"

"Part of it, ve~"

"Feli, it's ok, I wouldn't, like, totally get it either!" a small chuckle. "Don't be down because of that, I mean, it's Roddie overdoing things again!"

"But…" Italy sighed. Poland was his best friend, and he was the only other person Italy had admitted his feelings of inadequacy when in presence of Austria to. "This was my chance so that Roderich would consider me! What now?"

A small silence. "Feli, like, believe me when I say you'll have tons and tons of chances again! I have a feeling he'll be totally feeling silly now".

Not at all reassured by Poland's cryptic words (why would Austria feel silly?), Italy allowed the other Nation to ramble on for a bit, then cut the call off and moved to clean the table.

The evening had been entirely pleasant, and it had filled Italy with warmth, but he'd ruined everything with his stupid approach to the poem, and now he was sure that Austria would rethink his presence again.

With a sigh, Italy went to curl on the sofa, feeling disappointed and sad.

…–…–…–…

When Austria got to his house, he found Hungary waiting for him sitting on his sofa, expression partly amused and partly exasperated.

"What are you doing here, Elizaveta?" he asked, his tone maybe a little rougher than necessary.

"Feliks texted me," she replied, crossing her legs and leaning towards him. "Feli called him moments ago, feeling guilty for not understanding what your poem was about".

Austria's cheeks turned crimson in shame, and he shook his head. "It was probably stupid of me to think I could express myself with words," he replied. "I've never had to deal with…" he lifted both hands in the air.

"Oh, Roderich, love always makes you behave in ways you wouldn't expect," she smiled at him, patting the sofa at her side.

He sat down, shaking his head. "It has been long since the last time I've been in love, Elizaveta" he admitted.

She giggled, rubbing the back of his hand with her fingers. "I remember it, though," she replied, sighing and smiling at him. "You brought me flowers that you picked from _my_ garden, roots included, and with soil attached to them," he looked at her, shocked, "and then you tried having a painting done for me".

He flushed crimson, wondering why couldn't the ground just swallow him whole.

He remembered. He also remembered how Hungary had laughed at his horrible failure of a painting.

"But we did end up together, after all," he managed to say, rubbing his forehead.

"Roderich, that was because we've known each other since we were little! I knew your silly, cute attempts were meant to show how you felt, and that is why I was the one to propose, don't you remember?"

Austria looked away, nodding gloomily. Indeed.

"But Feli doesn't know this side of you. He only knows the strict, proud Roderich," she continued. "And maybe a poem isn't the way to go at all… if what Feliks told me is true".

Even more ashamed, Austria looked away, then stopped, and carefully took out from his pocket the crumpled sheet of paper with the poem, reading it to himself once again.

This time, he concentrated on the words alone, mind set into it, and when he reached the ending line, he frowned.

If he had to be honest with himself, the first time his poem had looked perfect –words on paper, he'd explained his feelings for Italy very clearly, and he'd expected the other to understand, though Italy had no knowledge of what Austria felt, and reading it again now only proved him that he'd been wrong in expecting Italy to understand.

The poem was written with method, and it was vaguely reminiscent of the old style Austria appreciated in poetry, but…

It wasn't exactly clear on what he meant. Italy couldn't really connect the flower with himself, nor Austria with the tree.

Writing didn't suit Austria's way of living, probably just like war didn't suit Italy's.

If there was something Austria was good at, that would be music, definitely not poems. Poland's idea to write something wasn't that bad, in the end, but it couldn't apply to Austria; his notions and his work were impersonal, even when regarding his feelings, but he _had_ ways that could express what he felt.

His music, of course.

He couldn't show what he felt through anything else but that, and that was the way to go.

"Excuse me, Elizaveta," he stood up and nodded at her in thanks, "I think I need some time by myself now, if you could… your advice was mostly welcome, but I guess I can't let you and Feliks work in my place".

Blinking in surprise, Hungary stood up and glanced at him in the eyes, taking her time, almost as if reading him deeply –which was probably what she was doing.

In the end, she reacted as Austria had expected her to –she smiled at him, placed one hand on his chest, and gently kissed him on the cheek, waving and leaving his house without another word.

He waited until he was completely sure she was gone before moving down the corridor and into his music hall, flickering the lights on.

The room was empty and silent, but Austria's skin was already prickling with the excitement he felt whenever he was about to compose music, and his ears were already filling with notes and possibilities.

With slow steps, he reached the giant wooden armoire and took out some music sheets and one of his old feathered quill and ink.

He'd long since moved to plastic pens when dealing with his newest compositions, but for something this important, he knew that his favourite quill would be definitely more suited.

The piano was waiting for him, and Austria was about to sit down and start when his eyes caught sight of the glass showcase in the corner; he moved towards it, his eyes growing warm at the sight of the beautiful Stradivari violin that once had belonged to Italy.

It was a splendid instrument, and he kept it polished and refined, taking care not to ruin it.

It was, by all means, one of the best gifts he'd ever received, and it had been almost ironic before that such a loved, cared for present had been from Italy.

Now, the thought only made Austria feel even more set in finding a way to tell Italy how he felt. Words were not enough, written poems would i_never/i_ be enough… but music… notes dancing around him… that would be perfect.

Gently lifting up the lid of the showcase, Austria carefully held up the violin into his arms, and placed it on his shoulder, pressing his chin against the soft cushion.

The smell of the old wood filled his nostrils as the Austrian musician lifted the bow and swept it on the chords of the violin.

A long, vibrating note echoed in the room then fell into silence.

Austria's lips twitched upwards in satisfaction.

Bringing the bow down again, he started playing, the beautiful, deep and rich sound of the violin filling his mind, drawing out the notes from his heart.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **one more chapter and it's done… I hope you all like how it's moving. :3 thank you for all your nice comments, too! ^^

_Limoncello (Italian)_ – it's an Italian lemon liquor mainly from South Italy.

_Słucham (Polish)_ – Hello on the phone_._


	6. Chapter 06

**SOY:** Life's fun when you watch new stuff. Like DP. :D Also, please check profile for a poll regarding updates!

this is the last chapter of this fic. Thank you to everybody who followed through and tried it out, and thank you to all the people who reviewed. It has been fun. Thank you :) Please check ending notes for a _**surprise**_. ^^

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** Austria's language style, fluff and crack and sappiness?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**Fluttering Chaos**

"Ve~"

Romano grunted and looked up from his book, hissing in displeasure when he met Italy's sad glance.

"S–shut up, damn you! Stop sighing when you cook! It's pasta! _Pasta_! Shouldn't it make you happy? _Shit_," he growled, looking back down at his book.

He'd wanted to ignore Italy's bad mood, but it was quite impossible to do so –after all, this was still his little brother, and no matter what, South Italy cared for him.

Knowing exactly what was wrong did not help either, since Romano couldn't just get up and go kick the aristocratic bastard's ass… but seeing Veneziano this depressing really was… well, depressing.

"Feli…" with an exasperated huff, Romano stood up, after having placed a bookmark between the pages of his book, and reached for his brother, rapping his knuckles on the other Nation's head. "You don't deserve to be unhappy because of that idiot. Ignore him!"

Italy shifted around to look at his brother, pouting, and slowly shook his head.

"Ve~ it's _my_ fault, though… he's been ignoring my calls since I ruined our dinner the other day, and it's obvious he doesn't want me around anymore~it makes me sad!"

Romano scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to do.

"I get that you're sad, damn it! B–but this is too much! It's not your fault! Even if he doesn't like you, he shouldn't try to change you either! Y–you're… you're fine the way you are, that's it!"

Eyes burning with anger, Romano turned his back to his brother, tensing up when he felt Veneziano's forehead on the spot between his shoulder blades; he hissed again, but didn't move, looking down at the floor.

"Thank you, Lovi…" the whisper was so low that hadn't South Italy been so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

His cheeks coloured slightly and he huffed. "You're my little brother," he stated, almost defensively. "But I mean it. I don't get why you're so sad because a sucky aristocratic shit is ignoring you again. He did it for centuries, this parenthesis was just weird, and now everything is back to how it was before… what he thinks of you shouldn't be this important! Shit!"

"V–ve… brother wouldn't know, because brother Antonio always loved you tons…"

Italy felt Romano stiffen so much he wondered if maybe he had exaggerated a bit, then he felt him relax once again. "What does that stupid tomato idiot have to do with that?"

"Because Roderich has been my caretaker, but he never did like me… and no matter what you say, what he thinks _is_ important for me…"

"More important than what _I_ think?"

"Ve~ but brother is always mean to me…"

"T–that is not true, you bastard!" Romano really wanted to push his brother away, but he just _couldn't_, so he simply clenched his hands into fists.

"I know brother loves me, though," Italy continued, lips twitching upwards in a smile. "Even if he's mean, I know he cares for me".

"Y–you'd better know it, _stronzo_".

"But… I do want Roderich to like me…"

The two fell into an uneasy silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until South Italy shook himself out of it, and sighed.

"Is it… what he thinks, I mean… is it more important to you than what the Main Potato Bastard thinks?"

"Ve~? Ludwig is a friend, what he thinks matters to me!"

"…" refusing to twitch in anger, Romano took a big breath. He didn't like what he was trying to imply, but hell, wouldn't it make sense? "Still. Does what the Aristocratic Bastard thinks matter more to you than what the Potato Bastard thinks?"

Italy fidgeted, twirling his fingers together as he thought it out.

He really loved Germany, he was his best friend and they had spent so much time together, and Germany always took the outmost care of him, but… but Austria was Austria, and Italy always took in great consideration every single word coming from the Austrian Nation's mouth.

Did it mean he liked Austria better?

He'd never thought of it like that before, since Austria was not a friend.

His heart clenched painfully at that, and Italy was reminded that Austria was now ignoring him, not answering to his calls and hadn't invited him at his house in over a week.

"M–maybe," he conceded loudly.

Romano stiffened once again. He _really_ didn't like where this was going. Yet…

"Call that stupid Feliks, Feli," he grunted, finally moving away from Italy, not turning around to stare at him. "He'll be more helpful than I am, ok?"

"Ve?"

Without saying anything more, Romano stormed out of the room, not even thinking about the book he'd left on the table. Italy watched him disappear with a small frown, then he yelped when he remembered the pasta he was cooking, and ran back to the stove.

…–…–…–…

Of all the things he had been expecting to see, a vaguely gloomy Italy standing in front of his door was definitely not it, and Poland blinked in surprise, allowing his friend to enter the house, wondering what had happened.

"Feli, is there something wrong?"

Italy pouted and stared at him, nodding slightly with a confused expression.

Poland inwardly cooed at it, then pushed Italy up to his room and had him sit on his bed.

Glancing around at the outrageous bedroom, Italy felt a bit better; at least, Poland never changed –the walls were still pinkish, the wooden furniture was still of a delicate beige colour, and the paintings Italy had gifted him were still on the walls.

"So, like, tell me what happened? Do I have, like, to kick someone's ass?"

Italy took a deep breath and started to explain, including his brother's strange words and the fact that Austria was still ignoring his calls; when he finished talking, Poland had a weird expression and looked like he wanted to storm out of the door in anger.

"So? What should I do?"

Poland twirled a bracelet in his fingers and snorted. "I see why your uncool brother sent you here…"

"Eh? You know what's happening?"

The Polish nation smiled indulgently at him, "Feli, you, like, like Roddie a lot".

"Ve… of course I like Roderich!"

"No, Feli, not like that! I totally mean, like, _like_!"

Italy blinked once, then twice, then flushed crimson as Poland's words finally made sense. "Oh… _oh_".

With a satisfied smirk, Poland gently patted a confused Italy on the shoulder, allowing him some space to think about things.

He liked Austria? Was that the same thing Romano thought? Was that why he badmouthed the Austrian Nation so much in the last few weeks? Italy had thought it was because lately his brother had been hanging out with Prussia, but now, with this new possibility, he guessed it could be a bit of both.

Whatever the reasoning could be, they were both wrong in their assumption.

"I can't like Roderich~" he whined, shaking his head. "How is that even possible?"

He knew that if he _really_ liked Austria, then he would have known it, at least. It had been so for his previous loves. This was just stupid.

Poland swatted him on the head. "You care for him and what he says, you love spending time with him, you got this depressed when he ignored you… and you think about him more than you ever did for Ludwig, like, that'd totally make it clear for anyone!"

"…" Italy reluctantly thought about it.

He'd once liked Germany in the way Poland was implying he now liked Austria, but the feelings hadn't been reciprocated, so they were simply friends now. But Germany's opinion still mattered a lot to Italy.

But only because Austria's thoughts now mattered _more_, didn't mean that–

Did it?

"Ve…" his shoulders dropped a bit, and Italy slumped down on the bed.

Having Austria cook for him had filled him with happiness, and being allowed to hug him… that had caused Italy's heart to flutter erratically for hours afterwards, rolling in his bed and trying to get to sleep but failing because he could still feel Austria's warm frame against his own…

And the way Austria looked at him when they had spent time together –as if he mattered, as if he wasn't just looking at his once–charge, but at a fellow Nation. Finally.

Italy felt like the stupidest person on Earth.

"V–ve… I like Roderich…" admitting it aloud made his cheeks turn even redder.

Poland intertwined their fingers together, smiling at his friend with a knowing look. "It's ok… it's cute!"

"But it's once again one–sided!" Italy couldn't believe it –he'd only fallen in love twice, and twice the other party was not interested. This was just the third time in a row. "I think I just like to get into helpless situations…"

Poland's smile simply widened.

"Are you, like, going to tell Roddie how you feel?"

"But I know _already_ how he feels! He is ignoring me… I lost my chance even before realising what that chance was for! Ve~"

"Feli, like, man up!" standing up from the bed, the Polish nation looked down at his friend and placed his hands on his hips. "If he's not answering your calls, maybe you should go at his house and talk to him in person, no? I think it's better to be honest with him either way!"

Italy blinked and stared at his friend with an uncertain look, but Poland grabbed his hand and pushed him back downstairs, not even listening to his protests, then shoved him out of his house, smiling all the while.

"Call me when you've told him, silly Feli!"

With that, Poland shut the door close and scuttled to the window, smirking in satisfaction as Italy, after having waited in front of the entrance for a bit, finally turned around and left.

"I, like, have to run and call Eli! This development was unexpectedly _fabulous_!"

…–…–…–…

If there was a word to describe Italy with, it would be 'positive', or 'optimistic'.

It had always been like that, ever since he was a young child–colony, mere territories held together by determination and fear; if he hadn't been positive, he was sure he would have been defeated, annexed or destroyed easily, but with his cheerful outlook on things, Italy had managed to pass through wars and battles mostly unscathed, and in the end, he'd finally made it into a Nation.

Being positive had made it possible for him to not fall prey of despair after his grandfather had died, and during the years under control of Austria first, then France, then Austria again, he'd always hoped things would change soon.

Even when the Holy Roman Empire had left for war, making Italy realise how painful a goodbye could be, he'd still endured, telling himself that things would surely get better.

During every war he'd prayed to be able to come out of them safely; then, Germany had appeared, becoming his best friend and protector, a person Italy trusted almost blindly.

He had known that Germany was what was left of his first love who should have died decades before, but with Germany not remembering anything, Italy had slowly learned to let the memories of that young, sweet Nation go.

Then, he'd fallen in love with Germany, but had soon realised that the other Nation was not romantically interested in Italy, and since he valued their friendship too much to ruin it, Italy had accepted that they were not destined to be together.

Slowly, even that pain had been soothed away, and his feelings for Germany had long since turned into a close friendship.

Italy had always been positive, and he knew that one day, he would find someone who could walk at his own pace, and with whom he could share something…

Despite that, his reserves of optimism were growing thin. He was afraid that if he followed Poland's advice and confessed to Austria, this rejection would be more painful than what he could stand.

At the same time he knew Poland was right; it would haunt him forever if he were to let go, and Austria was, in the end, a proper gentleman –even if he despised Italy's presence, he would be courteous when rejecting him.

Italy might be a coward with things related to war, but he was not a coward with everything.

Which was why he was standing in front of Austria's house, fidgeting as he waited for the other Nation to come and open the door.

So far, nobody had answered.

'_Ve… did he see me standing from a window and decided not to open?'_ he wondered, feeling disturbed and sad, then he shook his head. No, Austria wasn't like that –even if he disliked the person, he'd never let them standing in front of the door… he'd let them in anyway.

He always did that for Prussia, too, even though they granted to each other's nerves.

Italy knocked again, then rang the doorbell. Since no one opened, he wondered if Austria was even at home.

He tried the handle, and the door clicked open.

"… Roderich?"

Hesitantly, Italy peered through the door, but there was no one in the entrance corridor, and nobody answered, either.

Should he just go away and return later on?

"Feliciano?"

Italy gasped loudly and turned around, shocked to see the person he had been thinking about standing right behind him. "Uh… Roderich?"

Austria was clearly surprised to see him there, and was holding a bag of groceries in his arms, eyes fixed on Italy, who felt his cheeks redden and quickly looked away, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Looking at Austria now that he was aware of his feelings for him was… awkward.

For a long moment, they didn't move, then Austria shook himself out of his trance and cleared his throat. "What are you doing here, Feliciano?"

Italy swallowed and straightened up. "Ve~ I…"

"Wait…" Austria placed one of the bags down and passed his fingers through his hair, looking to the side. "It is good to see you. I have something I'd like to… discuss with you, if you don't mind".

Not knowing what to say, Italy simply nodded, and followed Austria inside his house. The Austrian man dropped his bags in the kitchen and led the other to the music room.

Italy wasn't sure what to expect –Austria acted like nothing had happened, like he hadn't ignored Italy's calls for over a week– but was too worried on what he had to say, so he didn't comment on it.

As he waited for Austria to talk again, Italy sat down on a chair conveniently left at the side of the door, glancing around with his insides twisting painfully.

"Feliciano," Austria didn't turn to look at him. "I spent the last few days composing a song".

Tilting his head to the side, Italy looked at the piano Austria loved so much, and frowned when he realised there was a thin layer of dust covering it.

It didn't really _look_ like Austria had been composing at all, and it was almost an outrageous behaviour for the musician to let his piano cover with dust.

Something was wrong, but Italy couldn't understand what.

"Rod–"

"Please, let me finish," Austria stopped him, lifting one hand to brush against the showcase of the violin.

Surprised, Italy stared as the other Nation gently picked up the violin (the same Stradivari that _he_ had given him), bringing it up to his neck.

He wanted to ask why was he using a violin when he was better suited with a piano, and he wanted to ask if composing had taken so much of his attention that he forgot to clean his instruments, but he couldn't –Austria had asked him to stay silent, so he complied.

With a deep breath, Austria steadied his hands. He knew the song by memory now, and yet he kept the music sheets in front of him, spread all over the table.

"I would like you to listen, just as you did with my faulty poetry, and offer me your honest thoughts once I've finished performing".

Italy felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. Was he being offered another chance? What if he blotched this one as well?

"Rod–"

"I have only one request of you, and it is to be completely honest, Feliciano. I do not wish you to lie, as what you think is important for me".

Throat suddenly dry, Italy nodded. Important? Really?

"I… I will listen with my outmost attention, Roderich, I promise," he murmured. "Please start when you are ready".

Austria nodded curtly, and finally turned towards him, hand holding the bow gracefully brushing it against the chords of the violin.

Italy's heart resonated together with the instrument, the familiar, rich sound echoing through him as Austria started playing in a sweet, soft tone that quickly pulled Italy in, enveloping his mind and washing through his body.

He didn't even know when his eyes fluttered close, fingers twitching in his lap as they clutched at the hem of his shirt whilst inside him emotions roared and grew stronger, threatening to turn him insane.

The music was… _overwhelming_. The shift in tones, the accelerations quickly slowed down to a languid, slow pace, every note melting within the melody, beautiful and enticing and devastating…

Italy felt his eyes fill with tears, moved by the utter beauty of the music.

When the last few notes dispersed in the air, and Austria's movements came to a halt, Italy's chest was hurting with the many emotions fluttering inside him.

It had been a composition like no other had ever been written –all of Austria's skills applied to an instrument he wasn't that comfortable with, and yet brought out such a gorgeous melody, and Italy knew that above any reasoning, what he'd just listened was as close to divine as only music could be.

"Feliciano…?"

Italy looked up, not knowing what to say, and watched as Austria gently knelt in front of him, looking a bit ruffled and hesitant, and gently pressed one hand on Italy's own.

The contact made Italy aware of the closeness between them, and the fact that Austria was touching him on his own accord, as if stepping over his own boundaries.

He didn't understand anymore –once again, Austria's actions were confusing, sending him mixed signals he couldn't decipher.

"I…" his tone felt so weak that Italy visibly winced, swallowing before restarting. "I don't… don't know what to say".

"Did you enjoy my composition, Feliciano?"

A nod.

Austria took a deep breath again, his mouth suddenly dry. "Do you know what this song is about?"

Hesitantly, Italy nodded again. The sweet music, the inflection of the notes, Austria's concentrated, gentle expression when playing, the small smile on his face that clearly indicated more than just satisfaction, almost a hidden tenderness…

"It is a love song".

The corners of Austria's lips twitched upwards, and his heart suddenly felt lighter.

So he'd been right –he could truly express himself with music, and have Italy understand.

"That composition…" Austria looked to the side. "It has been created while thinking about a person".

Italy nodded. He'd expected this –whoever it was that held Austria's heart this way, was probably someone worth of such a beautiful, heart-wrenching song. The devotion was so clear that even Italy could feel it.

Yet, aside from the devotion and the love, the central part had been so slow and sad, the notes drawn out, almost in a lament, that made him uncertain as to why a love song would need to beg for forgiveness.

"Feliciano, I needed you to listen to this song without knowing the recipient, because you wouldn't have understood before. What my feelings are, what my heart wanted to say… words cannot express this as music can. My poem has failed me before, unable to bring forth the truth, only masking it further, and this vehicle I chose was the only one that could help me".

Having a hard time understanding what Austria meant, Italy wondered if the other nation was simply asking his permission. Surely a violin had different properties than a piano had, but this was Austria's violin, after all.

He barely registered Austria's hands gently holding his own in a steady grip, too lost in his own thoughts to notice.

Then, Austria's words penetrated the fog within his mind, making him focus sharply on the other man.

"Feliciano, that song was composed for _you_".

"Eh?"

Lightheaded, Italy tried to make sense in what Austria was saying.

"Wha… what? But that was a love sonata, was it?"

Austria nodded.

"I have developed feelings for you, Feliciano. They have been growing in the last few weeks we've spent together, and I've come to realise that… I have fallen for you, Feliciano".

For a long moment, Austria remained silent, still holding the other man's hands in his own, wondering what was going through Italy's brain, if there was a chance for them to be together.

Then, Italy yelped loudly and lunged forwards, arms wrapping tightly around Austria's shoulders and holding him close, and he gasped when he felt a pair of lips press against his cheek, a fleeting contact that was repeated more than once all over his face.

Austria spluttered in an undignified way and flailed around for a split moment before realising what was going on; when his brain finally got it, he grabbed Italy by his shoulders and stopped him, moving him away until he could stare at the Italian Nation's face, cheeks crimson.

"F–Feliciano! Stop this instant!"

Italy froze, cheeks equally flushed and a bright, wide smile on his lips, and stared expectantly at Austria, who cleared his throat once more and shook his head.

"P–please, Feliciano, do it… uh, properly" he requested, heart racing in his chest. "I said I have fallen for you, and I'd like a reply".

If possible, the smile on Italy's lips widened even more, threatening to split his face in two. "I love Roderich too… I think I might have loved you for a while now… I really, really love you~"

Italy grabbed Austria's hands into his own and kissed them, making the musician splutter once again, embarrassed yet touched by the show of affection.

This was it –what he'd wished for ever since realising his feelings for Italy had grown too deep to be ignored…

This closeness, this feeling in his chest, like his heart could burst anytime now…

Trying to find a way to exercise at least a small amount of control over the situation, Austria gently held Italy's hand up and pulled the other nation into an embrace. It felt right, and having Italy against his chest, giggling in sheer delight, filled him with warmth as he gently held his chin still and leaned down to kiss him.

Their noses bumped uncomfortably against each other, and Italy grunted when Austria's glasses got in the way, but then Austria was cradling him closer, and all he could breath was the other Nation's scent, and Austria's lips were on his own, delicate and warm and–

The fluttering chaos in his mind was placated, and it occurred to them at that moment, that this was just the right happy ending they had both wished to have.

And it was just about perfect.

…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY: **I hope the ending was satisfying! There will be a short omake coming up for you all, just consider it a short epilogue to this story, and once again

_Thank you for reading!_

_Stronzo (Italian)_ – shithead.


End file.
